i 


'.i^^LiJu 


THE    COMEDY   OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
By   H.   DE   BALZAC 


SCENES    FROM   PROVINCIAL   LIFE 


A  GREAT  MAN   OF  THE    PROVINCES 

IN   PARIS 


BEING   THE   SECOND    PART   OF 


"LOST    ILLUSIONS" 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 


Already  Published: 
PERE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  FALL  OF   CESAR  BIROTTEAU. 
EUGENIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN     PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TWO     BROTHERS. 
THE    ALKAHEST. 
MODESTE     MIGNON. 
THE   MAGIC    SKIN  (Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS     LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employes). 
SERAPHITA. 
SONS    OF    THE     SOIL. 
FAME    AND    SORROW. 
THE    LILY    OF    THE    VALLEY. 
URSULA. 

AN   HISTORICAL    MYSTERY. 
ALBERT    SAVARUS. 
BALZAC  :    A   MEMOIR. 
PIERRETTE. 
THE    CHOUANS. 
LOST    ILLUSIONS. 

A  GREAT   MAN   OF    THE    PROVINCES  IN 
PARIS.  ^ 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    Publishers. 
BOSTON. 


HONORE    D£    BAlZAC 

TRANS-yi^P     FY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


A    GREAT    MAN 


OF 


THE    PROVINCES    IN    PARIS 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 


3     SOMERSET     STR  EET 


BOSTON 
1893 


JIU 


e 


GIFT  OF 

^^    Copyright,  1893, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


fflnibfrsttn  ^rcss: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


TO 


MONSIEUR   VICTOR    HUGO. 


You,  monsieur,  who,  by  the  privilege  of  the  Raffaelles  and 
the  Pitts,  were  already  a  great  poet  at  an  age  when  other  men 
are  still  immature,  —  you  have  known,  like  Chateaubriand  and 
all  other  true  artists,  what  it  is  to  struggle  against  Envy  am- 
bushed behind  the  columns  of  a  newspaper,  or  lurking  in  the 
dark  places  of  journalism.  Therefore  I  desire  that  your 
victorious  name  should  help  to  victory  the  work  I  now  inscribe 
to  it ;  a  work  which  is,  in  the  minds  of  some,  an  act  of  courage, 
inasmuch  as  it  is  a  history  of  plain  truth.  Think  you  that 
journalists  would  not  have  found  their  place,  like  physicians, 
marquises,  financiers,  and  notaries,  on  Moliere's  stage?  Why 
then  should  the  "  Comedy  of  Human  Life,"  which  castigat 
ridendo  mores,  spare  such  a  power  when  the  Parisian  press 
itself  spares  none? 

I  am  happy,  monsieur,  in  being  thus  enabled  to  subscribe 
mvself. 

Your  sincere  admirer  and  friend, 

DE  BALZAC. 


79o^^ 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  First-Fruits  of  Paris 1 

II.  The    Great    Man's    Entrance    into    the 

Great  World 26 

III.  One  Lost  Illusion 45 

IV.  Two  Varieties  of  Publisher 58 

V.  The  First  Friend 78 

VI.  The  Brotherhood  of  Hearts  and  Minds  89 

VII.  Externals  of  Journalism 107 

VIII.  The  Sonnets 118 

IX.  A  Third  Variety  of  Publisher  ....  134 

X.  A  Fourth  Variety  of  Publisher     .     .     .  151 

XI.  Behind  the  Scenes 167 

XII.  How  Journalism  is  Done 191 

XIII.  The  Supper 208 

XIV.  A  Last  Visit  to  the  Brotherhood  .     .     .  230 
XV.  The  Arcana  of  Journalism 239 

XVI.  Ke  Dauriat 260 


CONTENTS. 


pagp: 

I.  First-Fruits  of  Paris 1 

II.  The    Great    Man's    Entrance    into    the 

Great  World 26 

III.  One  Lost  Illusion 45 

IV.  Two  Varieties  of  Publisher 58 

V.  The  First  Friend 78 

VI.  The  Brotherrood  of  Hearts  and  Minds  89 

VII.  Externals  of  Journalism 107 

VIII.  The  Sonnets 118 

IX.  A  Third  Variety  of  Publisher  ....  134 

X.  A  Fourth  Variety  of  Publisher     .     .     .  151 

XI.  Behind  the  Scenes 167 

XII.  How  Journalism  is  Done 191 

XIII.  The  Supper 208 

XIV.  A  Last  Visit  to  the  Brotherhood  .     .     .  230 
XV.  The  Arcana  of  Journalism 239 

XVI.  Re  Dauriat 260 


viii  Great  Man  of  the  Proviyices. 

PAGE 

XVII.     Study  in   the   Art    of  Writing   Palin- 
odes   281 

XVIII.     Power  and  Servitude  of  Journalists  294 

XIX.     Re-entrance  into  the  Great  AVorld     .  316 

XX.     A  Fifth  Variety  of  Publisher     .     .     .  337 

XXI.     Journalistic  Blackmailing 348 

XXII.     Change  of  Front 365 

XXIII.  The  Fatal  Week       ........  383 

XXIV.  Adieu! 405 


>     >  »   >     0    > 


>    >     >  > 


A  GREAT   MAN   OF  THE  PROVINCES 

IN   PARIS. 


I. 


FIRST   FRUITS    OF    PARIS. 


When  Lucien  Cbardon,  otherwise  de  Rubempre,  poet 
and  great  man  in  the  provinces,  left  Angouleme  to  seek 
his  fame  and  fortune  in  Paris  under  the  auspices  of 
Madame  de  Bargeton  and  in  her  compan}',  their  journey 
together  was  not  all  that  might  have  been  expected. 
Neither  he,  nor  Louise  de  Bargeton,  nor  Gentil,  her 
footman,  nor  Albertine  the  waiting-maid,  ever  spoke  of 
the  events  of  that  journey,  but  it  can  easily  be  seen 
how  the  perpetual  presence  of  servants  made  it  rather 
an  awkward  affair  for  a  lover  who  regarded  the  matter 
in  the  light  of  an  elopement. 

Lucien,  who  had  never  travelled  post  in  his  life,  was 
aghast  at  seeing  nearl}'  the  whole  sum  on  which  he 
counted  for  a  year's  support  scattered  along  the  road 
between  Angouleme  and  Paris.  Like  all  those  who 
unite  the  spontaneity^  of  childhood  with  vigor  of  intel- 
lect, he  committed  the  blunder  of  expressing  his  naive 
amazement  at  the  novelt}-  of  the  things  he  met.  A  man 
should  have  studied  a  woman  thoroughly  before  he  lets 

1 


2         Crreat  Man,  hptJie  <Provi7ices  in  Paris. 

'       1     (        .  ( 

her  sea  his  e.^oti6jis>  pii  \As^  thoughts  as  they  arise.  A 
mistress  who  is  tender  and  also  noble,  smiles  at  child- 
like impulsiveness  and  understands  it ;  but  if  vanity 
underlies  her  affection,  she  will  not  forgive  a  lover  for 
being  childish,  vain,  or  petty.  Many  women  are  such 
extravagant  worshippers  that  they  insist  on  making  a 
god  of  their  idol ;  while  others,  who  love  a  man  for 
himself  before  loving  him  for  then-  own  sakes,  adore 
his  littleness  as  much  as  they  do  his  greatness.  Lucien 
had  not  3'et  discovered  that  Madame  de  Bargeton's  love 
was  grafted  on  pride  ;  he  made  the  great  mistake  of 
not  explaining  to  himself  certain  smiles  which  flickered 
on  her  lips  during  this  journey  when,  instead  of  repress- 
ing his  gambols,  he  gave  way  to  them  like  a  3'^oung  rat 
escaping  from  his  hole. 

The  travellers  stopped  before  daybreak  at  the  hotel 
du  Gaillard-Bois,  rue  de  I'Echelle.  They  were  both  so 
fatigued  that  Louise  went  to  bed  immediately,  but  not 
until  she  had  ordered  Lucien  to  take  a  room  on  the  floor 
above  her.  Lucien  also  went  to  bed  and  slept  till  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  at  which  hour  Madame  de 
Bargeton  sent  to  have  him  wakened  and  called  to  dinner. 
He  dressed  himself  hurriedl}^,  seeing  how  late  it  was, 
and  found  Louise  in  one  of  those  miserable  rooms  which 
are  the  disgrace  of  Paris,  where,  in  spite  of  all  the  great 
city's  pretensions  to  elegance,  there  is  not  a  single  hotel 
in  which  a  traveller  can  have  the  comforts  of  a  home. 
Lucien  could  scarcely  recognize  his  Louise  in  that  cold, 
sunless  room,  with  its  faded  curtains,  its  miserable  tiled 
floor  and  shabby  vulgar  furniture,  either  old  or  bought 
at  a  bargain.  It  is  a  fact  that  some  persons  never  do 
have  the  same  aspect  or  the  same  value  when  separated 


G-reat  Man  of  the  ^'P,ro:omces  in  Paris.        3 

from  the  forms,  things,  aw,d.piat^(if»  wluck-served  to  frame 
them.  Living  personalities  have  a  sort  of  atmosphere 
which  is  needful  to  them  just  as  the  chiaro-scuro  of  the 
Dutch  interiors  is  necessar}^  to  give  life  to  the  figures 
which  the  genius  of  the  painters  puts  into  them.  Pro- 
vincials are  nearl}'  all  thus. 

Moreover,  Madame  de  Bargeton  seemed  to  Lucien 
more  dignified,  more  thoughtful  than  she  ought  to  be 
at  a  moment  when  their  happiness  was  about  to  begin 
without  alio}'.  But  he  had  no  chance  to  complain  ;  for 
Gentil  and  Albertine  were  both  in  the  room  serving 
dinner.  The  dinner,  too,  was  far  from  being  the 
abundant,  generous  meal  of  the  provinces  ;  the  dishes, 
skimped  by  careful  measurement,  came  from  a  neigh- 
borincr  restaurant  and  were  ill-served  and  meanlv  por- 
tioned.  Paris  is  not  liberal  in  the  little  things  of  life  to 
which  persons  of  moderate  means  are  condemned.  Lu- 
cien awaited  the  end  of  the  dinner  to  question  Louise, 
in  whom  he  perceived  a  change  that  was  to  him  inex- 
plicable. He  was  not  mistaken.  A  serious  event  — 
for  reflections  are  events  in  the  mental  life  —  had  hap- 
pened while  he  slept. 

About  two  in  the  afternoon  the  Baron  Sixte  du  Cha- 
telet  had  arrived  at  the  hotel,  waked  up  Albertine, 
urged  his  desire  to  see  her  mistress,  and  had  waited 
until  Madame  de  Bargeton  had  time  to  dress.  Louise, 
whose  curiosit}'  was  excited  b}'  this  unexpected  arrival 
in  Paris  of  her  former  admirer,  believing  that  she  had 
carefully  concealed  her  traces,  received  him  about  three 
o'clock. 

"  I  have  followed  3'ou  at  the  risk  of  a  reprimand  from 
the  administration/'  he  said,  "  for  I  foresaw  what  would 


4         G-reat  Man  of  tM  "Provinces  in  Paris. 

happen^    'But  even  if-  i  Idse  nay  place,  you  shall  not  be 
lost,  —  never  !  " 

"  What  can  3'ou  mean? "  cried  Madame  de  Bargeton. 

*'l  see  too  plainl}'  that  you  love  Lucien,"  he  said, 
with  a  tenderl}^  resigned  air  ;  "  for  a  woman  must  love 
a  man  deepl}'  when  she  acts  without  reflection,  when 
she  forgets  the  proprieties, — you,  who  know  them  so 
well.  Do  3'ou  seriously  think,  my  own  adored  Nais, 
that  you  will  be  received  by  your  cousin,  Madame 
d'Espard,  who  is  at  the  apex  of  Parisian  social  life, 
or  indeed  in  any  salon  in  Paris,  when  it  comes  to  be 
known  that  3'ou  have  fled  from  Angouleme  with  a 
3'oung  man  after  a  duel  fought  b3^  your  husband  on  his 
account?  Monsieur  de  Bargeton's  removal  to  3'our 
father's  house  at  Escarbas  has  the  look  of  a  separation. 
In  such  cases,  the  husband  always  begins  b3^  fighting 
for  his  wife's  honor  and  leaving  her  free  afterwards. 
Love  Monsieur  Chardon  de  Rubempre  if  3"ou  choose, 
protect  him,  make  what  3'ou  will  of  him,  but  don't  live 
together.  If  an3'  one  here  knew  that  you  had  even 
travelled  to  Paris  with  him  in  the  same  carriage,  3"0u 
would  be  put  in  the  index  expurgatorius  of  the  societ3' 
3'ou  have  come  to  seek.  Besides,  Nais,  don't  make 
such  sacrifices  to  a  young  man  3'ou  have  never  yet  com- 
pared with  others  ;  whom  3'ou  have  not  subjected  to  any 
test ;  who  may  indeed  forget  3"ou  to-morrow  for  some 
Parisian  woman  whom  he  thinks  more  likely  than  3'ou 
to  advance  his  ambitions.  I  don't  wish  to  do  injus- 
tice to  the  man  3'ou  love,  but  you  must  permit  me  to 
consider  your  interests  before  his  and  sa3''  to  3'OU : 
'  Study  him  !  Know  the  full  bearings  of  what  3'ou 
do.'     If  you   find   the   doors  of  societ3'   shut   against 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.        5 

you,  it*  the  women  refuse  to  receive  you,  at  any  rate 
have  tlie  satisfaction  of  being  sure  that  the  man  for 
whom  you  make  such  sacrifices  will  always  be  worth}' 
of  them  and  comprehend  them.  Madame  d'Espard  is 
all  the  more  prudish  and  severe  because  she  is  herself 
separated  from  her  husband,  —  the  world  does  not  know 
why ;  but  the  Navarreins,  the  Blamont-Chauvrys,  the 
Lenoncourts,  all  stand  by  her,  the  most  straight-laced 
women  visit  her  and  treat  her  with  the  utmost  respect ; 
in  short,  the  Marquis  d'Espard  is  entirely  in  the  wrong. 
You  will  see  the  truth  of  what  I  am  telling  you  the  very 
first  time  that  you  visit  her.  I  assure  3'ou  that  I,  with 
my  knowledge  of  Paris,  am  able  to  predict  that  you  will 
no  sooner  enter  Madame  d'Espard's  salon  than  you  will 
hope  she  may  not  find  out  3'ou  are  at  the  hotel  du  Gail- 
lard-Bois  with  the  son  of  an  apothecary,  —  Monsieur  de 
Rubempre,  as  he  calls  himself  You  will  have  rivals 
here  who  are  far  more  astute  and  scheming  than  those 
j'ou  had  in  Angouleme  ;  they  will  not  fail  to  discover 
who  3'ou  are,  where  3'ou  are,  whence  3'ou  came,  and  what 
3'ou  are  doing.  I  see  plainl3'  that  3'ou  have  counted  on 
being  to  a  certain  extent  incognita.  But  3'ou  are  one 
of  those  persons  for  whom  an  incognito  does  not  exist. 
You  will  meet  Angouleme  everywhere  ;  for  instance,  the 
deputies  from  the  Charente  who  come  to  the  opening 
of  the  Chambers,  or  the  general  on  furlough,  who  is  now 
in  Paris,  —  it  needs  only  one  person  from  Angouleme 
to  divulge  that  your  life  has  something  peculiar  about 
it ;  you  will  then  be  rated  as  nothing  more  than  Lucien's 
mistress.  If  3'ou  should  have  an3'  need  of  me  —  for  any 
purpose,  no  matter  what  —  you  will  find  me  at  the  Re- 
ceiver-general's, rue  du  Faubourg-Saint-Honore,  not  far 


6         Gfreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

from  Madame  d'Espard's  bouse.  I  know  the  Marechale 
de  Cavigliano,  Madame  de  Serizy,  and  the  President  of 
the  Council  sufficient!}^  well  to  present  you  to  them  ; 
but  you  will  meet  so  many  persons  of  the  highest  rank 
at  Madame  d'Espard's  that  you  will,  if  you  take  a  judi- 
cious course  now,  have  no  need  of  me.  Far  from  seeking 
an  entrance  into  salons,  vou  will  be  sought  in  them." 

Du  Chatelet  might  have  talked  on  longer  and  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton  would  not  have  interrupted  him. 
She  was  struck  by  the  justice  of  his  remarks.  The 
queen  of  Angouleme  had  really  been  counting  on  her 
inco(/?iito. 

"You  are  right,  mj^  dear  friend,"  she  said,  "but 
what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Allow  me  to  find  you  a  suitable  suite  of  furnished 
apartments,"  replied  Chatelet.  "  The  expense  will  be 
less  than  living  at  a  hotel,  and  3'ou  will  virtuall}'  be  at 
home ;  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  30U  will  sleep  there 
to-night.'* 

"  How  did  you  find  out  m}'  address?"  she  said. 

"  Your  carriage  was  easilj'  recognized  ;  besides,  I  was 
following  you.  At  Sevres,  the  postilion  who  left  3'ou 
there  told  your  address  to  m}-  man.  Will  you  allow  me 
to  be  3'our  steward?  I  will  write  3'ou  a  line  the  moment 
I  have  found  3'ou  suitable  lodgings." 

' '  Very  good,"  she  said  ;  "do  so." 

The  words  seemed  almost  nothing,  but  the3^  meant 
all.  The  Baron  du  Chatelet  had  spoken  the  language 
of  the  world  to  a  woman  of  the  world.  He  appeared 
before  her  in  all  the  elegance  of  a  Parisian  toilet ;  a 
well-appointed  cabriolet  had  brought  him  ;  after  he  left 
her,  Madame  de  Bargeton  walked  to  the  window  acci- 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,        7 

clentalh^  reflecting  on  her  position,  and  she  saw  the 
old  dand}^  drive  awa.y.  A  few  moments  later,  Lucien, 
abruptl}^  awakened  and  hastily  dressed,  presented  him- 
self before  her  eyes  in  his  nankeen  trousers,  shrunken 
by  a  3'ear's  washing,  and  his  shabb}'  little  frock-coat. 
He  was  handsome,  trul}',  but  ridiculously  dressed. 
Cover  the  Apollo  Belvedere  or  the  Antinous  with  the 
clothes  of  a  porter  —  would  you  then  perceive  the  divine 
creations  of  Greek  and  Roman  art?  The  eyes  compare 
before  the  heart  rectifies  their  hasty  mechanical  judg- 
ment. The  contrast  between  Lucien  and  du  Chatelet 
was  too  violent  not  to  strike  Madame  de  Bargeton 
forcibly. 

When  dinner  was  over,  about  six  o'clock  that  even- 
ing, Louise  made  a  sign  to  Lucien  to  come  and  sit 
beside  her  on  the  paltry  little  sofa  covered  with  yellow- 
flowered  red  calico  on  which  she  was  seated. 

"  Dear  Lucien,"  she  said,  "  do  3'ou  not  think  that  if 
we  have  committed  a  folly  which  will  injure  us  both  it 
would  be  wise  to  undo  it?  We  must  not,  my  dear 
child,  live  together  in  Paris,  nor  let  any  one  suspect  we 
came  here  in  compan}'.  Your  future  depends  a  great 
deal  on  m}^  position,  and  I  must  not  spoil  it  at  the  out- 
set. So,  to-night,  I  am  going  to  move  into  lodgings 
not  far  from  here  ;  3'ou  must  stay  on  in  this  hotel ;  we 
shall  see  each  other  ever}?"  day,  and  no  one  can  find 
fault  with  that." 

Louise  then  expounded  the  laws  of  the  great  world  to 
Lucien,  who  opened  his  eyes  very  wide.  Without  as  3'et 
knowing  that  women  who  get  over  their  follies  are  get- 
ting over  their  love,  he  did  understand  that  he  was  no 
longer  the  Lucien  of  Angouleme.     Louise  now  spoke 


8         Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Pariis, 

onl}'  of  herself,  her  interests,  her  reputation  in  society  ; 
though,  to  excuse  this  selfishness,  she  tried  to  make  him 
believe  it  was  all  for  his  sake.  He  certainly  had  no 
rights  over  Louise,  suddenly  transformed  back  into 
Madame  de  Bargeton  ;  and  he  now  felt,  what  was  far 
more  serious,  that  he  had  no  power.  He  could  not  re- 
strain the  tears  from  coming  into  his  eyes. 

"  If  I  am,  as  3'ou  have  so  often  declared  to  me,  your 
glory,  you  are  even  more  than  that  to  me  ;  3'Ou  are  ni}- 
or\\y  hope  and  all  my  future,"  he  said.  "  I  believed 
that  if  you  shared  my  success  you  would  also  share  my 
struggles,  and  now  you  are  alread}^  separating  3'ourself 
from  me  ! " 

"  You  are  judging  me,"  she  said  ;  "  that  proves  you 
no  longer  love  me."  Lucien  looked  at  her  with  so 
piteous  an  expression  that  she  could  not  refrain  from 
adding:  "Dear  child,  I  will  sta}^  if  3'OU  demand  it; 
we  shall  lose  all  and  be  without  social  support ;  but, 
when  we  are  both  equally  miserable,  both  rejected  b}^ 
societ}',  when  failure  (for  we  ought  to  foresee  all)  has 
driven  us  to  Escarbas,  you  must  remember,  my  dear 
love,  that  I  foresaw  the  result,  and  prated  3'OU  at  the 
start  to  master  the  world  by  obeying  its  laws." 

"Louise,"  he  answered,  clasping  her,  "  it  frightens 
me  to  see  3'OU  so  wise.  Remember  that  I  am  but  a  child 
in  the  world's  ways,  and  that  I  have  alread}'  given  myself 
up  to  your  dear  will  in  everything.  For  myself,  I  desired 
to  triumph  over  men  and  things  by  sheer  strength  ;  but  if 
I  can  reach  the  same  result  more  rapidly  by  3'our  assist- 
ance than  alone,  I  shall  be  glad  indeed  to  owe  you  all. 
Forgive  me  !  I  have  trusted  m3'  all  to  you  ;  how  there- 
fore can  I  now  help  fearing?     This  separation  seems 


Great  Man  of  the  P^^ovinces  in  Paris,        9 

to  me  the  forerunner  of  desertion  ;  and  desertion  would 
be  death." 

"  But,  dear  Lucien,  how  little  is  asked  of  j'ou,"  she 
answered;  "  merely  to  sleep  here!  You  can  be  with 
me  all  daj^  and  no  one  will  object  to  that." 

A  few  caresses  calmed  him.  In  an  about  an  hour 
Gentil  appeared  with  a  note  from  du  Chatelet,  in  which 
he  told  Madame  de  Bargeton  he  had  found  her  a  suite 
of  rooms  in  the  rue  Neuve-de-Luxembourg.  She  in- 
quired the  situation  of  the  street ;  finding  it  was  not  far 
from  the  rue  de  I'Echelle,  she  encouraged  Lucien  by 
whispering,  "We  are  neighbors." 

Two  hours  later  Madame  de  Bargeton  got  into  the 
carriage  du  Chatelet  sent  for  her,  and  went,  accom- 
panied by  Lucien,  to  her  new  home.  This  apartment, 
one  of  those  which  upholsterers  furnish  and  lease  to 
rich  deputies  or  to  persons  of  importance  who  come  to 
Paris  for  a  short  time,  was  sumptuous  but  inconvenient. 
Lucien  went  back  to  his  little  hotel  at  eleven  o'clock 
having,  so  far,  seen  nothing  of  Paris  but  the  small  sec- 
tion of  the  rue  Saint-Honore  which  lies  between  the  rue 
Neuve-de-Luxembourg  and  the  rue  de  I'Echelle.  He 
went  to  bed  in  his  miserable  little  room,  comparing  it 
with  the  magnificent  suite  Louise  was  now  occupying. 

He  had  no  sooner  left  the  house  than  the  Baron  du 
Chatelet  arrived,  on  his  way  from  the  ministry  of  For- 
eign Affairs,  in  all  the  splendor  of  full  evening  dress. 
He  came  to  tell  Madame  de  Bargeton  of  the  agreements 
he  had  made  in  her  name.  Louise  was  rather  uneasy 
on  this  point ;  the  luxury  of  the  rooms  frightened  her. 
Provincial  customs  had  in  course  of  time  reacted  on  her 
own  habits  and  she  had  grown  very  careful  of  expenses  ; 


10       Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

she  was  in  fact  so  careful  that  in  Paris  her  ideas  would 
seem  sting3\  She  had  brought  nearly  twent}^  thousand 
francs  with  her  in  a  draft  on  the  Receiver-general,  in- 
tending to  make  that  sum  cover  all  her  surplus  expenses 
for  four  years.  Already  she  began  to  fear  it  might  not 
be  enough  and  that  she  would  have  to  run  in  debt.  Du 
Chatelet  told  her  that  the  apartment  would  onl}'  cost 
her  six  hundred  francs  a  month. 

"A  mere  nothing,"  he  said,  observing  how  she 
started.  "  You  have  a  carriage  at  3'our  command  for 
five  hundred  francs  a  month  ;  and  besides  that  you  will 
have  onl}^  j^our  toilet  to  think  of  I  assure  3'ou  that  a  wo- 
man who  goes  into  the  great  world,  as  3'ou  will,  cannot 
do  diflTerently.  If  3'ou  wish  to  get  Monsieur  de  Barge- 
ton  made  a  Receiver-general  or  obtain  a  place  for  him 
in  the  King's  household,  3'OU  must  not  live  on  a  poor 
scale.  Here  nothing  is  ever  given  except  to  the  rich. 
It  is  fortunate  for  you,"  he  went  on,  "  that  you  have 
Gentil  to  go  about  with  you  and  Albertine  to  dress  you, 
for  Parisian  servants  are  ruinous  ;  and  with  such  an  in- 
troduction into  societ3^  as  you  have,  3^ou  will  seldom  eat 
a  meal  at  home." 

Madame  de  Bargeton  and  the  baron  talked  of  Paris. 
He  told  her  all  the  news  of  the  day ;  the  thousand 
nothings  that  persons  must  know  under  pain  of  not 
being  Parisian  at  all.  He  gave  her  much  advice  as  to 
the  shops  from  which  she  ougiit  to  suppl3^  herself  with 
what  she  wanted  ;  Herbault  he  named  for  head-dresses, 
Juliette  for  bonnets,  and  he  gave  her  the  name  of  a 
dressmaker  worth 3^  to  take  the  place  of  Victorine.  In 
short,  he  made  her  feel  the  necessity  of  dis-Angoulem- 
izing  herself  as  soon  as  possible.     Then  he  departed 


Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      11 

with  a  stroke  of  polic}'  wliich  occurred  to  him  at  the 
last  moment. 

''  To-morrow,"  he  said  carelessly,  "  I  shall  no  doubt 
have  a  box  at  one  of  the  theatres,  and  I  will  come  for 
you  and  Monsieur  de  Rubempre,  for  I  hope  you  will 
permit  me  to  do  the  honors  of  Paris  to  both  of  3'ou." 

"He  has  more  generosity'  in  his  nature  than  I 
thought,"  said  Madame  de  Bargeton  to  herself  on 
findino;  Lucien  included  in  the  nivitation. 

In  the  month  of  June  the  ministers  never  know  what 
to  do  with  their  boxes  at  the  theatres ;  the  ministerial 
deputies  and  their  constituents  are  busy  with  their  vin- 
tage or  in  getting  in  their  ha}' ;  the  most  exacting  ac- 
quaintances of  the  ministers  are  travelling  or  living  in 
their  country-places ;  consequently  at  that  time  of  the 
year  the  best  boxes  at  the  Parisian  theatres  are  tilled 
with  an  anomalous  crowd  of  persons  whom  the  regular 
attendants  never  see  again,  and  who  give  the  audito- 
rium somewhat  the  appearance  of  a  shabby  carpet.  Du 
Chatelet  knew  that,  thanks  to  this  circumstance,  he  could 
procure  Madame  de  Bargeton  the  pleasure  all  provincials 
prefer  at  small  expense. 

The  next  day,  Lucien,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
known  Louise,  was  told  she  was  out  when  he  went  to 
see  her.  Madame  de  Bargeton  had  gone  to  make  cer- 
tain indispensable  purchases,  and  take  counsel  with  the 
solemn  and  illustrious  authorities  in  female  dress  whom 
du  Chatelet  had  named  to  her ;  for  she  had  written 
on  her  arrival  to  her  cousin,  the  Marquise  d'Espard, 
and  wished  to  be  prepared  for  what  might  follow. 
Though  Madame  de  Bargeton  had  that  confidence  in 
herself  which   comes   of   long   ascendenc}',    she   was, 


12       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

nevertheless,  singularl}'  afraid  of  seeming  provincial. 
She  had  tact  enough  to  know  that  first  impressions 
count  for  much  in  the  relations  between  women ;  and 
though  she  knew  she  had  sufficient  capacit}'  to  put  her- 
self on  the  level  of  superior  women  like  Madame 
d'Espard  very  soon,  she  felt  the  need  of  friendly  good- 
will at  the  start,  and  saw  the  necessitj^  of  not  missing 
any  element  to  success.  She  felt  therefore  infinitel}' 
obliged  to  du  Chatelet  for  having  shown  her  the  means 
of  preparing  to  enter  the  great  world  on  equal  terms. 

It  so  chanced  that  the  Marquise  d'Espard  was  in  a 
position  which  made  her  extremely  well  pleased  to  be 
able  to  do  a  service  to  a  member  of  her  husband's  famil}-. 
Without  apparent  cause,  the  Marquis  d'Espard  had  re- 
tired from  the  world  ;  he  paid  no  attention  to  his  own 
affairs,  nor  to  political  matters,  nor  to  his  famil}',  nor  to 
his  wife.  Left  mistress  of  herself,  the  marquise  felt  the 
necessit}'  of  being  supported  b}^  the  world.  She  was 
very  glad  therefore  of  an  opportunity'  to  take  her  hus- 
band's place  in  this  instance  and  make  herself  the  pro- 
tectress of  his  famil}'.  She  determined  to  put  some 
ostentation  into  her  patronage  in  order  to  make  her 
husband's  neglect  the  more  obvious.  No  sooner,  there- 
fore, did  she  receive  the  note  Louise  addressed  to  her 
than  she  wrote  to  "  Madame  de  Bargeton,  nee  Negre- 
pelisse,"  one  of  those  charming  missives  the  style  of 
which  is  so  fascinating  that  it  takes  some  time  to 
perceive  their  want  of  depth. 

''  She  was  delighted,"  she  said,  "  that  circumstances 
should  bring  into  her  famih'  a  person  of  whom  she  had 
so  often  heard  and  with  whom  she  ardently  desired  to 
become  acquainted ;   Parisian  friendships  were  not  so 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      13 

exclusive  as  to  prevent  her  from  wishing  to  love  others  ; 
and  if  that  wish  were  not  fulfilled  in  this  instance,  it 
would  be  only  one  more  illusion  to  bury  with  the  rest. 
She  placed  herself  wholly  at  the  disposal  of  her  cousin, 
and  would  have  gone  to  see  her  at  once  were  it  not  for 
a  slight  indisposition  which  kept  her  at  home  ;  but  she 
desired  to  express  how  much  obliged  she  was  that  her 
cousin  had  thought  of  her." 

During  Lucien's  first  rambling  walk  along  the  boule- 
vards and  through  the  rue  de  la  Paix,  he  was,  like  all 
new-comers,  far  more  interested  b}'  things  than  by  per- 
sons. The  first  things  that  strike  a  mind  new  to  Paris 
are  the  great  masses,  the  luxury  of  the  shops,  the  height 
of  the  houses,  the  multitude  of  carriages,  the  violent 
contradiction  between  extreme  luxury  and  extreme  pov- 
ert}^  Amazed  at  a  crowd  of  which  he  had  never  seen 
the  like,  this  creature  of  imagination  was  conscious  of 
a  sense  of  his  own  extreme  diminution.  Persons  who 
receive  consideration  of  any  kind  in  the  provinces  and 
meet  at  every  step  some  proof  of  their  importance,  can- 
not easil}'  accustom  themselves  to  this  total  and  sudden 
loss  of  value.  To  be  something  in  one's  own  neighbor- 
hood and  nothing  in  Paris,  are  two  states  of  being 
which  need  a  transition  period ;  and  those  who  pass 
too  abruptly  from  one  to  the  other  fall  into  a  species  of 
humiliated  depression.  To  a  young  poet  who  wanted 
an  echo  to  all  his  sentiments,  a  confident  for  all  his 
ideas,  a  soul  to  share  his  every  emotion,  Paris  was 
likely  to  be  a  desert. 

Lucien,  who  had  sent  his  humble  wardrobe  by  carrier 
rather  than  exhibit  to  Madame  de  Bargeton  the  poverty 
of  his  baggage,  had  not  yet  fetched  the  box,  marked 


14       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  to  be  called  for,"  which  contained  his  best  blue  coat ; 
so  that  he  felt  embarrassed  by  the  meanness,  not  to 
say  dilapidation,  of  his  clothes  when  he  called  to  see 
Madame  de  Bavgeton  at  the  hour  he  had  been  told 
she  would  return ;  he  found  with  her  the  Baron  du 
Chatelet,  who  carried  them  both  to  dine  with  him  at 
the  Roclier  de  Cancale.  Lucien,  bewildered  by  the 
whirl  of  Paris,  could  sa}-  nothing  to  his  mistress,  for 
they  were  all  three  in  the  carriage,  but  he  pressed  her 
hand,  and  she  replied  in  an  amicable  manner  to  the 
thoughts  he  thus  expressed. 

After  dinner  du  Chatelet  took  his  guests  to  the 
Vaudeville.  Lucien  felt  much  secret  discontent  at 
du  Chatelet's  aspect,  and  privatel}'  cursed  the  accident 
which  brought  him  to  Paris  at  that  particular  time. 
The  baron  had  put  his  journe}^  to  the  score  of  his 
ambition  ;  he  hoped,  he  said,  to  be  appointed  secre- 
tarj^-general  of  one  of  the  ministries,  and  to  enter  the 
Council  of  State  as  master  of  petitions  ;  and  he  had 
come  to  Paris  to  remind  the  government  of  the  promises 
made  to  him, — a  man  of  his  pretensions  could  not  re- 
main a  director  of  taxes  ;  he  would  rather  be  nothing, 
or  become  a  deputy,  or  return  to  diplomac}'.  So  sa3ing 
he  swelled  and  magnified  himself;  and  Lucien,  vaguely 
recognizing  in  the  old  dand}'  the  superiority  of  the  man 
of  the  world  who  knows  Parisian  life,  felt  especially 
mortified  in  owing  him  a  pleasure.  Just  where  the 
young  man  and  poet  felt  particularly  uneas}-  and  em- 
barrassed the  man  of  social  life  was  like  a  fish  in  its 
element.  Du  Chtitelet  smiled  at  the  hesitations,  amaze- 
ments, questions,  all  the  little  mistakes  into  which  want 
of  knowledge  cast  his  rival,  like  the  old  sea-dogs  who 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,      15 

laugh  at  greenhorns  before  the}-  get  what  are  called 
their  sea-legs.  However,  the  pleasure  Lucien  took  in 
his  first  glimpse  of  the  sights  of  Paris  compensated  for 
the  annoyance  his  blunders  caused  him. 

This  evening  was  remarkable  for  Lucien's  secret 
repudiation  of  many  of  his  ideas  about  provincial  life. 
The  circle  of  his  opinions  widened,  societ}^  took  other 
proportions.  The  proximity  of  several  pretty  Parisian 
women,  elegantly  dressed  with  a  certain  crisp  freshness, 
led  him  to  notice  the  old-fashioned  look  of  Madame 
de  Barge  ton's  gown,  though  it  was  rather  pretentious  ; 
neither  the  material,  nor  the  cut,  nor  the  color  was  in 
the  style  of  the  day.  The  fashion  of  her  hair,  which 
had  lately  so  fascinated  him  in  Angouleme,  now  seemed 
to  him  in  shocking  taste  compared  with  the  charming 
arrangement  of  the  heads  about  him.  "  Will  she  always 
look  hke  this?"  thought  he,  not  knowing  that  her  day 
had  been  spent  in  preparing  for  a  transformation. 

In  the  provinces  there  is  neither  choice  nor  compari- 
sion  to  be  made  ;  faces  that  are  constantly  seen  acquire 
a  conventional  beaut}'.  A  woman  who  is  thought  pretty 
in  the  provinces  obtains  little  or  no  attention  when 
translated  to  Paris,  for  she  has  onl}'  been  beautiful  by 
the  application  of  the  proverb,  "  In  the  countr}'  of  the 
blind  the  one-e3'ed  men  are  kings."  Lucien's  eyes 
made  the  comparison  which  Louise  had  made  the 
night  before  between  du  Chatelet  and  himself  More- 
over, at  this  very  moment  Louise  was  allowing  herself 
to  make  further  strange  reflections  about  her  lover. 
Notwithstanding  his  great  beauty,  the  poor  poet  had  no 
style.  His  coat,  the  sleeves  of  which  were  too  short, 
his  countrified  gloves,  his  frayed  waistcoat,  made  him 


16       Crveat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

absolutel}^  ridiculous  beside  the  3'oung  men  about  them  ; 
Madame  de  Barge  ton  thought  his  whole  air  pitiable. 
Du  Chatelet,  paying  her  unobtrusive  attentions,  watch- 
ing over  her  with  a  silent  care  that  betra3'ed  a  deep 
sentiment,  —  du  Chatelet,  elegant  and  as  much  at  his 
ease  as  an  actor  who  returns  to  the  boards  of  his  own 
theatre,  now  regained  in  two  da3's  all  the  ground  he 
had  lost  in  her  mind  in  the  last  six  months.  Though 
commonplace  persons  will  not  admit  that  feelings  can 
change  abruptly-,  nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  two 
lovers  do  diverge  from  each  other  far  more  quickl}-  than 
they  come  together.  A  disillusion  was  beginning  for 
Louise  and  Lucien  about  each  other,  the  cause  of  which 
was  Paris  itself.  Life  was  suddenty  magnified  to  the 
poet's  ej'^es,  just  as  societ}^  took  a  new  aspect  in  those 
of  Louise.  For  the  one,  as  well  as  for  the  other, 
nothing  was  needed  but  some  chance  accident  to  snap 
the  ties  that  united  them.  The  occasion  was  not  long 
in  coming.  Meantime,  on  the  evening  in  question 
Madame  de  Bargeton  dropped  the  poet  at  his  hotel  and 
returned  to  her  own  rooms  accompanied  by  du  Chatelet ; 
a  most  unpleasant  circumstance  to  the  poor  lover. 

"  What  will  the}^  say  about  me?  "  he  was  thinking  as 
he  went  up  the  stairs  to  his  dismal  chamber. 

"  That  poor  lad  is  certainly  extremel}^  dull,"  said 
du  Chatelet,  smiling,  as  soon  as  the  carriage  door  was 
closed. 

"It  is  always  so  with  those  who  have  a  world  of 
thought  in  their  heart  and  brain,"  said  Madame  de 
Bargeton.  "  Men  who  have  many  things  to  express  in 
noble  works  long  meditated  despise  conversation,  —  an 
employment  in  which  the  intellect  cheapens  itself  into 


Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris.      17 

small  change,"  added  the  proud  Negrepelisse,  who  still 
found  courage  to  defend  Lucien,  —  less  however  for 
Lucien's  sake  than  for  her  own. 

"■  I  grant  you  that,"  said  the  baron,  "  but  we  live  with 
persons,  and  not  with  books.  M3'  dear  Nais,  I  see  that 
there  is  nothing  really  between  3'ou  and  Lucien  as  yet, 
and  I  am  delighted.  If  3'ou  decide  to  put  into  your  life 
an  interest  which  you  have  never  had  so  far,  I  do 
entreat  you  let  it  not  be  for  a  sham  man  of  genius. 
Suppose  3'ou  were  mistaken  !  suppose  that  after  a  time, 
when  3'ou  came  to  compare  him  with  real  talent,  with 
the  remarkable  men  whom  you  are  about  to  meet,  sup- 
pose you  should  then  discover,  dear,  beautiful  siren, 
that  3'ou  had  taken  upon  3'our  dazzling  shoulders  and 
borne  to  port,  not  a  man  with  a  13're,  but  a  little  rh3'me- 
ster,  without  manners,  without  scope,  sill3^  presuming, 
one  who  ma3'  have  intellect  enough  for  THoumeau,  but 
shows  a  ver3'  ordinar3'  capacit3'  in  Paris  !  After  all, 
volumes  of  verse  quite  as  good  as  Monsieur  Chardon's 
poetr3^  are  published  weekl3^  in  Paris.  I  implore  3'ou  to 
pause,  consider,  compare.  To-morrow,  Frida3',  is  an 
opera  night,"  he  added  as  the  carriage  turned  into  the 
rue  Neuve-de-Luxembourg.  "Madame  d' Espard  has 
the  box  of  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Bedchamber  and  will, 
no  doubt,  invite  you  to  go  with  her.  To  see  you  in  3'our 
glory,  I  shall  go  to  Madame  de  Serizy's  box.  They 
give  '  Les  Danaides.'  " 

"  Adieu,"  she  said. 

The  next  da3'  Madame  de  Bargeton  endeavored  to 
arrange  a  suitable  morning  dress  in  which  to  call  upon 
her  cousin  Madame  d'Espard.  The  weather  was  cold 
and  she  could  find  nothing  better  in  her  old-fashioned 

2 


18       Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

Angouleme  wardrobe  than  a  certain  green  velvet  gown 
trimmed  in  a  rather  excessive  manner.  Lucien,  on  his 
side,  had  felt  the  necessity  of  fetching  his  famous  blue 
tail-coat  (with  the  rest  of  his  baggage  sent  from  An- 
gouleme by  carrier) ;  for  he  was  by  this  time  seized  with 
horror  at  his  shabb}^  surtout,  and  wished  to  put  himself 
in  proper  clothes  in  case  lie  met  Madame  d'Espard  or 
was  invited  to  her  house  unexpectedly.  He  jumped 
into  a  hackney-coach  in  order  to  bring  his  parcels  back 
more  expeditiousl3^  In  two  hours'  time  he  spent  four 
francs,  which  gave  him  much  to  think  of  as  to  the  finan- 
cial demands  of  Parisian  life.  After  arra3ing  himself 
in  the  superlatives  of  his  wardrobe,  he  went  to  the  rue 
Neuve-de-Luxembourg,  where,  on  the  threshold  of  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton's  apartment,  he  met  Gentil  in  com- 
pany with  a  magnificentl}'  plumed  chasseur. 

"I  was  going  to  3'our  house,  monsieur;  madame 
sends  you  this  little  note,"  said  Gentil,  knowing  noth- 
ing of  the  formulas  of  Parisian  respect,  accustomed  as 
lie  was  to  the  easy  ways  of  provincial  life.  The  chas- 
seur accordinglj'  took  the  poet  for  a  servant. 

Lucien  opened  the  note,  which  told  him  that  Madame 
de  Bargeton  was  spending  the  da}'  with  Madame  d'Es- 
pard and  would  go  with  her  to  the  Opera  at  night ;  but 
Lucien,  added  Louise,  was  to  go  there  also,  for  the 
marquise  offered  a  seat  in  her  box  to  the  young  poet  to 
whom  she  was  dehghted  to  procure  that  pleasure. 

"  She  loves  me !  my  fears  are  foolish,"  thought 
Lucien;  "she  wishes  to  present  me  to  her  cousin 
to-night." 

He  skipped  for  joy,  and  resolved  to  spend  his  time 
gayly  till   the  happy  evening   came.     Rushing   to  the 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,      19 

Tuileries  he  determined  to  walk  about  and  dream  until 
it  was  time  to  go  and  dine  at  Very's.  Behold  him 
springing,  light  with  happiness  and  gayety,  along  the 
terrace  of  the  Feuillants,  examining  the  promenaders, 
the  prett}'  women  with  their  admirers,  the  elegant 
young  men  arm  in  arm  in  pairs  saluting  each  other 
with  glances  as  they  passed.  What  a  contrast  that 
terrace  presented  to  the  Promenade  of  Angouleme ! 
The  birds  of  this  magnificent  aviary  were  very  different 
from  those  of  Beaulieu  !  Here  was  a  wealth  of  all  the 
colors  of  the  ornithological  families  of  India  and  America 
compared  to  the  gray  tones  of  the  birds  of  Europe. 

Lucien  passed  two  agonizing  hours  in  the  Tuileries ; 
he  had  a  violent  revulsion  of  feeling,  and  judged  him- 
self and  things  as  they  were.  In  the  first  place  he  did 
not  see  a  single  tail-coat  on  an}'  of  these  elegant  3'oung 
men.  If  he  did  see  a  coat  of  that  cut  it  was  sure  to  be 
worn  b}'  some  old  man  of  another  class  or  some  poor 
devil,  evidentlj^  from  the  suburbs,  or  perhaps  a  shop- 
man. As  soon  as  he  perceived  that  there  were  two 
styles  of  dress,  one  for  the  morning  another  for  the 
evening,  our  poet,  with  his  quick  perceptions  and  keen 
emotions,  saw  the  ugliness  of  his  own  apparel  and  the 
defects  which  made  his  coat  ridiculous,  with  its  old- 
fashioned  cut  and  eccentric  color,  and  its  front  flaps, 
limp  with  use,  flapping  together ;  its  buttons,  too,  were 
rubbed  at  the  edges,  and  fatally  white  lines  defined  its 
creases.  Then  his  waistcoat  was  too  short,  and  the 
style  of  it  so  grotesquel}'  provincial  that  he  hurriedly 
buttoned  his  coat  in  order  to  hide  it.  And  lastl}",  as  a 
final  blow,  he  did  not  see  a  single  pair  of  nankeen 
trousers  except  among  the  common  people ;  well-bred 


20       Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

persons  were  all  wearing  charming  fancy  materials  or 
irreproachably  fresh  white  ones.  Besides,  all  trousers 
were  made  with  straps  and  his  met  the  heels  of  his 
boots  with  diflicult}',  their  bottom  edges  curling  up  as 
if  from  a  violent  antipath}'.  He  wore  a  white  cravat 
with  embroidered  ends,  worked  by  his  sister,  who,  liav- 
ing  seen  the  dandies  of  Angouleme  wearing  them,  had 
made  him  a  suppl}'.  Not  onl3'  did  no  one,  except  grave 
personages,  old  financiers,  stern  magistrates,  wear  white 
cravats  in  the  morning,  but  poor  Lucien  beheld,  hurry- 
ing along  the  pavement  of  the  rue  de  Rivoli  on  the  out- 
side of  the  iron  railing,  a  grocer-bo}'  carrying  a  basket 
on  his  head,  at  whose  chin  the  poet  of  Angouleme 
spied  two  ends  of  a  cravat  embroidered  by  the  hand  of 
some  adored  grisette.  At  the  sight,  Lucien  received  a 
blow  on  that  organ,  still  very  doubtfully  defined,  where 
our  sensibihties  harbor,  and  where,  ever  since  emotions 
have  existed,  men  lay  their  hands  when  excessive  joy 
or  excessive  pain  overtakes  them. 

Pray  do  not  call  this  statement  puerile.  To  the  rich 
who  have  never  known  this  sort  of  suffering  there  must 
be  something  mean  and  incredible  in  it ;  but  the  anguish 
of  the  poor  and  the  unfortunate,  from  whatever  cause  it 
comes,  is  not  less  deserving  of  attention  than  the  crises 
which  revolutionize  the  lives  of  the  powerful  and  the 
privileged  of  the  earth.  Besides,  is  there  not  as  much 
veal  miser}'  on  the  one  side  as  on  the  other.  Change 
the  terms :  instead  of  a  coat  or  a  costume  more  or  less 
desirable,  call  it  the  ribbon  of  an  order,  a  distinction, 
a  title.  Those  apparentl}'  trifling  things  have  made 
the  miser}'  of  many  a  brilliant  existence.  These  petty 
matters  are  moreover,  of  enormous  importance  to  those 


Cfreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,       21 

who  wish  to  appear  to  have  what  they  have  not ;  often 
they  are  their  only  means  of  possessing  such  things 
later.  Lucien  felt  a  cold  sweat  run  down  his  back  in 
thinking  that  he  would  have  to  appear  that  evening  in 
his  present  clothes  before  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  a 
relation  of  the  first  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  a 
woman  whose  house  was  frequented  by  the  illustrious 
men  of  all  careers,-  -  the  choicest  in  France. 

"  I  look  like  the  son  of  an  apothecary,  nothing  better 
than  a  shop-boy,"  he  fhought,  with  rage  in  his  heart  as 
he  watched  the  graceful,  elegant  young  men  of  the 
faubourg  Saint-Germain,  all  of  whom  had  a  certain  air 
which  rendered  them  alike  in  the  fineness  of  their  lines, 
the  nobilit}'  of  their  carriage  and  general  bearing,  while 
all  were  individually  different  by  the  setting  in  which 
they  chose  to  present  themselves.  Each  made  the  most 
of  his  personal  advantages  by  a  certain  scenic  presenta- 
tion which  is  quite  as  well  understood  and  practised 
among  the  young  men  of  Paris  as  among  the  women. 
Lucien  derived  from  his  mother  those  precious  physical 
distinctions  which  now  met  his  eyes  ;  but  in  him  the 
gold  was  in  the  nugget  and  not  minted.  His  hair  was 
ill-cut.  Instead  of  raising  his  chin  by  a  supple  whale- 
bone stock,  he  felt  his  face  buried  in  a  villanous  shirt- 
collar  ;  the  cravat,  offering  no  resistance,  allowed  his 
head  to  hans;.  What  woman  could  have  imao-ined  his 
shapely  feet  in  those  ignoble  countr}^  boots?  What 
young  man  would  have  envied  that  graceful  figure 
hidden  by  the  blue  sack  he  had  hitherto  believed  to  be 
a  coat?  He  saw  ravishing  studs  on  dazzling  shirts,  — 
his  own  shirt  was  grimy  !  All  these  elegant  gentlemen 
were  exquisitel}'  gloved,  —  his  gloves  were  those  of  a 


22       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

gendarme  !  That  youth  twirled  a  cane  with  a  beautiful 
knob,  this  other  wore  a  shirt  with  cuffs  held  in  place  by 
tiny  gold  buttons  !  One,  wlio  was  talking  to  a  woman, 
played  with  a  charming  whip,  and  the  full  plaits  of  his 
trousers,  on  which  were  little  splashes  of  mud,  also  his 
clanging  spurs  and  his  tightly  buttoned  overcoat  showed 
that  he  was  about  to  mount  one  of  two  horses  held  hy 
a  little  tiger  no  bigger  than  his  thumb.  Another  took 
from  his  fob  a  watch  as  flat  as  a  five-franc  piece,  and 
looked  at  the  hour  like  a  man  who  was  either  awaiting  or 
had  missed  an  appointment. 

Gazing  at  all  these  charming  externals,  the  like  of 
which  Lucien  had  never  so  much  as  imagined,  be  became 
suddenl}^  aware  of  the  world  of  superfluities,  and  he 
trembled  to  think  what  an  enormous  capital  was  needed 
to  play  the  part  of  a  man  in  societ}^  The  more  he 
admired  the  easy,  happ}^  air  of  tliese  young  men,  the 
more  he  was  conscious  of  his  own  awkward  air,  the  air 
of  one  who  does  not  know  where  the  path  he  is  follow- 
ing ends  ;  who  cannot  find  the  Palais-Royal  when  almost 
in  it ;  and  who  when  he  asks  a  passer-bj^  to  tell  him 
where  the  Louvre  is,  receives  for  answer,  "  Why,  this 
is  it." 

Lucien  felt  himself  parted  from  the  world  about  him 
by  a  sort  of  gulf,  and  he  began  to  consider  how  he 
should  cross  it,  for  he  firmly  resolved  to  be  like  this 
delicate,  graceful,  refined  youth  of  Paris.  All  tliese 
patricians  bowed  to  women  divinel}"  dressed  and  di- 
vinely beautiful,  —  women  for  whom  Lucien  would  have 
been  hacked  in  pieces,  like  the  page  of  Countess 
Konigsmark,  as  the  price  of  a  single  kiss.  In  the 
twilight  of  his  memor}-  Louise   loomed  up,  compared 


Gri^eat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,      23 

with  these  sovereigns,  as  an  old  woman.  He  met  sev- 
eral women  on  this  occasion  of  whom  the  historv  of  the 
nineteenth  century  will  one  day  speak  ;  whose  mind, 
beauty,  and  love-affairs  will  not  be  less  celebrated  than 
those  of  the  queens  of  former  days.  He  saw  a  sublime 
young  woman,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  better  known 
under  the  name  of  Camille  Maupin,  a  writer  of  emi- 
nence, as  distinguished  for  her  beauty  as  for  the  lofti- 
ness of  her  mind,  whose  name  was  repeated  in  a  low 
voice  by  man}'  persons,  men  and  women,  on  the 
promenade. 

"Ah  !  "  thought  Lucien,  "  this  is  poes3\" 
What  was  Madame  de  Bargeton  beside  that  angel, 
brilliant  with  youth  and  hope  and  promise,  smiling 
softl}^,  yet  with  a  black  eye  vast  as  heaven,  burning  as 
the  sun.  She  was  laughing  and  talking  with  Madame 
Firmiani,  one  of  the  most  charming  women  in  Paris. 
A  voice  cried  in  Lucien's  soul :  "  Intellect  is  the  lever 
with  which  to  move  the  world  ;  "  but  another  voice 
cried  as  loudl}',  that  the  fulcrum  of  intellect  was 
mone}'. 

He  would  not  stay  amid  his  ruins,  on  the  stage  of  his 
defeat,  and  he  turned  to  the  Palais-Ro3'al,  after  asking 
his  wa}',  for  he  did  not  j'et  know  the  topography  of 
tlie  neighborhood.  Once  there  he  went  to  Verj^'s  and 
ordered,  by  waj'  of  initiation  into  the  pleasures  of  Paris, 
a  dinner  which  consoled  his  despair.  A  bottle  of  Bor- 
deaux, Ostend  03'sters,  a  fish,  a  partridge,  and  some 
macaroni,  with  fruit,  formed  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  his 
desires.  As  he  regaled  himself  on  this  innocent  de- 
bauch he  thought  of  how  he  could  show  his  mind 
before  the  Marquise  d'Espard  that  evening,  and  redeem 


24       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

the  meanness  of  his  clothes  by  a  displa}'  of  his  intel- 
lectual wealth.  From  this  dream  he  was  awakened  by 
the  total  of  his  bill,  which  took  from  him  fifty  francs, 
a  sum  on  which  he  had  intended  to  live  for  some  time. 
The  dinner  cost  him  exactly  the  price  of  one  month's 
existence  in  Angouleme.  Consequentl}',  he  closed  the 
door  of  Very's  palace  respectfully,  reflecting  that  he 
might  never  enter  it  again. 

"  Eve  was  right,"  he  said,  thinking  of  his  sister  as 
he  made  his  way  back  to  the  hotel  to  get  more  mone}^, 
"Paris  prices  are  not  those  of  THoumeau." 

As  he  went  along  he  looked  with  admiration  into  the 
tailors'  shops,  remembering  the  well-dressed  young  men 
he  had  seen  that  da}^ 

"  No  !  "  he  cried  suddenl}-,  "  I  won't  go  to  Madame 
d'Espard's  in  such  clothes  as  these." 

He  ran  with  the  speed  of  a  deer  to  the  hotel  du  Gail- 
lard-Bois,  rushed  to  his  room,  took  three  hundred  francs, 
and  returned  to  the  Palais-Royal,  resolved  to  reclothe 
himself  from  head  to  foot.  He  had  passed  boot-makers, 
linen-shops,  hair-dressers,  as  well  as  tailors  ;  in  fact,  his 
future  elegance  was  scattered  through  a  dozen  shops. 
The  first  tailor  whose  place  he  entered  made  him  try 
on  as  man}"  coats  as  he  would,  persuading  him  that  they 
were  all  of  the  very  last  fashion.  Lucien  issued  from 
the  shop  in  possession  of  a  green  coat,  white  trousers, 
and  a  fancy  waistcoat,  for  the  sum  of  two  hundred 
francs.  He  soon  found  a  pair  of  boots,  equall}'  ele- 
gant, which  fitted  him  exactl}' ;  and  final)}',  after  bu}'- 
ing  all  that  he  felt  was  absoluteh'  necessarv,  he  ordered 
a  hairdresser  to  come  to  his  hotel,  where  his  various 
purchases  were  to  be  sent  at  once. 


Grreat  Mem  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,      25 

At  seven  o'clock  he  got  into  a  hackne3^-coach  to  be 
driven  to  the  opera,  frizzed  and  cnrled  like  a  little  Saint- 
John  in  a  procession,  well  waistcoated,  well  cravatted, 
but  a  good  deal  embarrassed  b}^  the  sort  of  sheath  into 
which  he  had  put  himself  for  the  first  time. 


26       Great  Ma7i  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


II. 

THE    GREAT   MAn's    ENTRANCE    INTO    THE    GREAT    WORLD. 

When  Lucien  reached  the  Opera-house,  he  followed 
Madame  de  Bargeton's  instructions,  and  asked  for  the 
box  of  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Bedchamber.  At  sight  of 
a  man  whose  spick  and  span  elegance  made  him  look 
like  a  waiter  at  a  wedding,  the  box-keeper  requested 
him  to  show  his  ticket. 

"  I  have  none." 

"  Then  you  cannot  enter,"  was  the  curt  repl3\ 

"  But  I  belong  to  Madame  d'Espard's  part3^" 

"  We  know  nothing  of  that,"  said  the  box-keeper, 
exchanging  an  imperceptible  smile  with  his  colleagues. 

Just  then  a  carriage  drew  up  under  the  perist3ie.  A 
chasseur,  whom  Lucien  did  not  recognize,  let  down  the 
steps  of  a  coupe,  from  which  two  women  in  evening 
dress  descended.  Lucien,  who  did  not  wish  to  receive 
an  insolent  request  from  the  box-keeper  to  stand  aside, 
made  wa}'  for  the  two  ladies. 

"  That  lad}'  is  the  Marquise  d'Espard  whom  you  pre- 
tended to  know,"  said  the  box-keeper,  sarcastically. 

Lucien  was  dumfounded,  all  the  more  because  Madame 
de  Bargeton  seemed  not  to  recognize  him  in  his  new 
plumage.  But  when  he  approached  her  she  smiled  and 
said  :  — 

"This  is  fortunate  ;  come." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      27 

The  men  in  the  box-office  were  sobered.  Lucien  fol- 
lowed Madame  de  Bargeton,  who,  as  she  went  up  the 
broad  staircase  of  the  Opera-house,  presented  her 
Rubempre  to  Madame  d'Espard.  The  box  of  the  Gen- 
tlemen of  the  Bedchamber  is  the  one  that  stands  pro- 
jected at  the  lower  end  of  the  auditorium  ;  the  occupants 
can  see  all,  and  every  one  present  can  see  them.  Lucien 
placed  himself  in  a  chair  behind  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
glad  to  remain  in  the  shade. 

"  Monsieur  de  Rubempre,"  said  the  marquise  in  a 
flattering  tone  of  voice,  "  you  have  come  to  the  Opera- 
house  for  the  first  time,  and  you  ought  to  have  a  full 
view  of  it.  Take  this  seat ;  place  yourself  in  front ;  m}' 
cousin  and  I  will  permit  it." 

Lucien  obeyed  ;  the  first  act  was  just  concluding. 

"  You  have  emplo3'ed  your  time  well,"  said  Louise, 
in  a  low  voice,  in  her  surprise  at  the  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  Lucien's  appearance. 

Louise  herself  was  not  changed.  The  juxtaposition 
of  a  woman  in  the  height  of  the  fashion  like  jMadame 
d'Espard  was  so  great  an  injur3'  to  her,  the  brilliant 
Parisian  was  such  a  foil  to  the  imperfections  of  the  pro- 
vincial beauty,  that  Lucien,  doubl}-  enlightened  by  the 
brilliant  world  before  him  and  b}'  the  elegant  creature 
beside  him,  saw,  alas  !  in  poor  Louise  the  real  woman, 
the  woman  such  as  the  Parisians  saw  her,  —  tall,  thin, 
pimpled,  faded,  angular,  stiff,  affected,  pretentious, 
provincial  in  speech,  and,  above  all,  ill-dressed.  The 
folds  of  an  old  Parisian  gown  will  still  show  taste  ;  it 
can  be  understood  and  imagined  as  it  once  was  ;  but  an 
old  provincial  gown  is  inexplicable,  laughable.  The  dress 
and  the  woman  were  equally  devoid  of  grace  or  fresh- 


28       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

iiess  ;  the  velvet  was  as  dappled  and  spotted  as  the 
complexion.  Lucien,  ashamed  of  having  loved  this  bag 
of  bones,  reflected  that  he  could  take  advantage  of  her 
next  sermon  on  virtue  to  leave  her. 

His  excellent  sight  enabled  him  to  see  all  the  opera- 
glasses  turned  to  this,  the  most  fashionable  and  aristo- 
cratic box  in  the  house.  The  elegant  women  present 
were  all  examining  Madame  de  Bargeton,  and  smiling 
to  one  another  as  the}"  did  so.  If  Madame  d'Espard 
observed  these  gestures  and  feminine  smiles  and  knew 
their  cause,  she  was  quite  indifferent  to  them.  In  the  first 
place,  she  was  well  aware  that  ever}'  one  would  know  her 
companion  to  be  a  poor  relation  from  the  provinces,  a 
class  of  persons  with  whom  every  Parisian  famil}^  is 
afflicted.  Besides,  when  her  cousin  had  expressed  some 
fears  as  to  her  dress,  she  had  reassured  her  cordially  ;  per- 
ceiving that  Madame  de  Bargeton,  once  properl}'  dressed, 
would  fulfil  all  the  other  requirements  of  manner  and 
conduct.  Louise  might  be  wanting  in  the  wa3'S  of  the 
world,  but  she  possessed  the  native  dignity  of  a  woman 
of  rank,  and  that  nameless  something  which  is  called 
race.  The  following  Monday  she  would  take  her  revenge 
and  show  them  Madame  de  Bargeton  in  another  light. 
Moreover,  after  society  had  learned  that  this  woman  Avas 
her  cousin,  the  marquise  knew  it  would  suspend  its  satire, 
and  wait  for  further  examination  to  judge  of  her. 

Lucien  had  no  conception  of  the  change  that  could 
be  wrought  in  Madame  de  Bargeton's  appearance  b}'  a 
scarf  wound  round  her  throat,  a  prett}'  gown,  an  ele- 
gant head-dress,  and  the  advice  of  Madame  d'Espard ; 
who  had,  for  instance,  as  the}'  went  up  the  stairway, 
told  her  cousin  not  to  carry  her  handkerchief  displayed 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      29 

in  her  hand.  Good  or  bad  taste  is  shown  by  a  thou- 
sand little  trifles  of  that  kind,  which  a  clever  woman 
instantly  learns,  and  many  women  never  comprehend. 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  already  very  willing  to  learn, 
had  even  more  intelligence  than  she  needed  to  perceive 
her  mistakes.  Madame  d'Espard,  sure  that  such  a  pupil 
w^ould  do  her  honor,  did  not  hold  back  from  advising 
her.  Between  the  two  women  a  compact  was  at  once 
formed  and  cemented  by  their  mutual  interests.  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton  felt  a  sudden  worship  for  the  idol  of 
the  day,  whose  manners,  wit,  and  surroundings  had  se- 
duced, dazzled,  and  fascinated  her.  She  recognized  in 
Madame  d'Espard  the  occult  power  of  an  ambitious 
grande  dame^  and  soon  told  herself  that  her  best 
means  of  success  la}^  in  becoming  the  satellite  of  such  a 
planet ;  she  therefore  unreservedh^  admired  her.  The 
marquise  was  alive  to  this  ingenuous  adoration  ;  she 
was  interested  in  a  cousin  who  seemed  to  her  depend- 
ent and  poor ;  she  liked  to  have  a  pupil  to  train,  and 
asked  nothing  better  than  to  turn  Madame  de  Bargeton 
into  a  lad3'-companion,  a  slave  who  would  sing  her 
praises,  —  a  treasure  as  rare  among  Parisian  women 
as  a  devoted  critic  is  in  the  literary  tribe. 

However,  the  stir  of  curiosity  became  so  visible  that 
the  new  importation  could  not  fail  to  perceive  it ;  and 
Madame  d'Espard  politely  endeavored  to  turn  her  off 
the  scent  of  its  real  meaning. 

*'  If  we  have  any  visitors,"  she  said,  "  we  shall  per- 
haps find  out  to  what  we  owe  the  honor  of  the  notice 
those  ladies  are  bestowing  upon  us." 

"  I  suspect  that  m}"  old  gown  and  my  provincial  face 
amuse  them,"  said  Madame  de  Bargeton,  laughing. 


30       G-reat  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


a 


No,  it  is  not  3^ou ;  it  is  something  I  cannot  quite 
make  out,"  replied  Madame  d'Espaixl,  looking  directly 
at  the  poet  for  the  first  time,  and  seeming  to  think  him 
singularl}'  dressed. 

"  There  's  Monsieur  du  Chaletet,"  said  Lucien,  at  this 
instant  raising  his  finger  and  pointing  to  tlie  box  (that 
of  Madame  de  Seriz}')  where  the  old  beau,  much  J'eju- 
venated,  was  sitting. 

Madame  de  Bargeton  bit  her  lips  with  vexation  at 
Lucien's  gesture,  and  the  marquise  did  not  restrain  a 
look  and  smile  of  astonishment  which  said  so  disdain- 
fully :  "Where  does  this  3'oung  man  come  from?" 
that  Louise  was  humiliated  in  her  love,  —  the  most  gall- 
ing of  all  sensations  to  a  Frenchwoman,  and  one  she 
never  forgives  a  lover  for  having  caused  her.  In  this 
social  world  where  little  things  are  made  of  such  impor- 
tance, a  gesture,  a  word  ma}'  destro}'  a  man.  The  prin- 
cipal merit  of  fine  manners  and  the  tone  of  good  society 
is  that  it  oflTers  an  harmonious  whole  in  which  all  things 
are  well-blended  and  nothing  salient  shocks.  Even 
those  who,  either  from  ignorance  or  from  some  impulse 
of  thought,  do  not  observe  the  laws  of  the  science  of 
society,  will  nevertheless  understand  that  in  this  har- 
monious whole  a  single  discord  is,  as  it  is  in  music,  a 
complete  negation  of  the  science  itself,  in  which  all  the 
conditions  ought  to  be  observed  to  the  smallest  particu- 
lar under  pain  of  its  ceasing  to  exist. 

"Who  is  that  gentleman?"  asked  the  marquise. 
"Do  you  already  know  Madame  de  Serizy?" 

"Ah!  is  that  lady  the  famous  Madame  de  Serizy 
who  has  had  so  many  adventures  and  is  received  ever}'- 
where  in  spite  of  them  ?  " 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      31 

"An  unheard-of  thing,  my  dear,"  replied  the  mar- 
quise; "explicable  perhaps,  but  unexplained.  The 
most  important  men  are  friends  of  hers  ;  wh}'?  no  one 
has  ever  solved  the  m3'ster3'.  Is  that  gentleman  who 
is  with  her  now  the  lion  of  Angouleme  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron  du  Chatelet,"  said  Louise,  who 
gave  him  in  Paris,  out  of  vanity,  the  title  she  denied 
him  in  Angouleme,  "  is  a  man  who  makes  people  talk 
about  him.  He  is  a  friend  and  companion  of  General 
de  Montriveau." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  marquise,  "  I  never  hear  that  name 
without  thinking  of  the  poor  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 
who  disappeared  like  a  shooting-star.  There,"  she  went 
on,  indicating  another  box,  "  are  Monsieur  de  Rastignac 
and  Madame  de  Nucingen,  wife  of  a  banker,  a  business 
man,  a  second-hand  dealer  on  a  large  scale  ;  a  man  who 
has  hoisted  himself  into  society  b}-  his  money,  and  who 
is  said  to  be  little  scrupulous  in  his  ways  of  increasing 
it.  He  takes  a  world  of  pains  to  make  people  believe 
in  his  devotion  to  the  Bourbons ;  he  has  made  several 
attempts  to  be  received  b}'  me.  In  taking  Madame  de 
Langeais'  opera-box  his  wife  expected  to  acquire  the 
poor  duchess's  grace  and  wit  and  vogue,  —  the  fable  of 
the  jay  in  the  peacock's  feathers  !  " 

"  How  can  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Rastignac, 
whom  we  know  to  have  onl}'  three  thousand  francs  a 
year,  support  their  son  in  Paris?"  remarked  Lucien  to 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  surprised  at  the  elegance  and 
luxur}^  exhibited  in  the  young  man's  dress. 

"It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  have  just  come  from  An- 
gouleme," said  the  marquise,  sarcasticall}',  without 
lowering  her  opera-glass. 


32       Great  Man  of  the  Pi'ovinces  in  Paris. 

Liicien  did  not  understand  her ;  he  was  entire!}"  ab- 
sorbed in  gazing  at  the  different  boxes,  where  he  felt 
that  opinions  were  being  formed  on  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton,  and  saw  the  curiosit}"  of  which  he  himself  was  the 
object. 

On  the  other  hand,  Louise  was  singularly  mortified  at 

the  little  notice  the  marquise  took  of  Lucien's  beaut}'. 

''He  cannot   be  as  handsome  as  I  thought  him,"  she 

said  to  herself.     After  that,  it  was  but  a  step  to  think 

him  less  brilliant. 

The  curtain  w^as  now  down.     Du  Chatelet  had  gone 

to  pa}'  a  visit  to  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  whose  box 
adjoined  that  of  Madame  d'Espard,  and  he  now  bowed 
to  Madame  de  Bargeton,  who  replied  by  an  inclination 
of  her  head.  A  woman  of  the  world  sees  everything, 
and  the  marquise  noticed  the  elegance  and  style  of  du 
Chatelet's  clothes.  Just  then  four  gentlemen  came  into 
Madame  d'Espard's  box,  one  after  the  other ;  all  four 
were  celebrities  in  the  gay  world  of  Paris. 

The  first  was  Monsieur  de  Marsay,  a  man  famous  for 
the  passions  he  had  inspired,  and  personally  remarka- 
ble for  a  species  of  girlish  beauty,  a  soft,  eflfeminate 
beauty,  counteracted  however  by  a  fixed,  calm,  clear, 
and  rigid  glance  like  that  of  a  tiger  ;  he  was  loved,  but 
he  terrified  those  who  loved  him.  Lucien  also  was 
handsome  ;  his  glance  was  soft,  but  his  eyes  were  so 
blue  and  limpid  that  he  seemed  to  lack  the  force  and 
power  by  which  so  many  women  are  attracted.  More- 
over, nothing  as  yet  had  brought  the  poet  into  notice 
and  given  him  confidence,  whereas  de  Marsay  had  a 
vigor  of  mind,  a  consciousness  of  pleasing,  a  style  of 
dress   appropriate  to  his  character  which  crushed   all 


Great  3fan  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      33 

rivals  who  approached  him.  Imagine  what  Liicien, 
stiff  and  starched  in  his  new  clothes,  was  in  such  a 
presence !  De  Marsa}'  had  conquered  the  right  to  say 
impertinent  things  by  the  wit  and  grace  of  manner  with 
which  he  accompanied  them.  The  greeting  accorded  to 
him  by  the  marquise  instantly  revealed  to  Madame  de 
Bargeton  his  importance. 

The  second  visitor  was  a  A^andenesse,  —  the  one  who 
had  caused  the  scandal  about  Lady  Dudley  ;  a  young 
man  of  gentle  manners,  modest  and  intelligent,  whose 
success  in  the  world  was  through  the  opposite  qualities 
to  those  on  which  de  Marsay  relied ;  he  had  been 
warmly  introduced  to  Madame  d'Espard  by  her  cousin 
Madame  de  Mortsauf.  The  third  was  General  de 
Montriveau,  the  cause  of  the  flight  and  death  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Lans^eais.  The  fourth  was  Monsieur  de 
Canalis,  one  of  the  most  illustrious  poets  of  the  da}',  —  a 
young  man  still  m  the  dawn  of  fame,  and  who,  prouder 
of  being  a  nobleman  than  a  poet,  was  pretending  to 
''pay  attentions"  to  Madame  d'Espard,  the  better  to 
conceal  his  passion  for  her  aunt  the  Duchesse  de 
Chaulieu.  In  spite  of  his  many  affected  graces,  the 
vast  ambition  which  cast  him  later  into  the  whirlpool  of 
politics  was  alread}'  discernible.  His  beaut}',  almost 
finical,  and  his  caressing  manners  scarcel}'  disguised 
even  now  the  profound  egotism  of  his  nature  and  the 
perpetual  scheming  for  a  position  that  was  still  prob- 
lematical ;  but  the  choice  he  had  made  of  Madame  de 
Chaulieu,  a  woman  over  forty  years  of  age,  had  lately 
earned  for  him  certain  court  benefits,  the  approval  of 
the  faubourg  Saint-Germain,  and  the  abuse  of  the  lib- 
eral party,  who  called  him  the  "  poet  of  the  sacrist}'." 

3 


34       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Studying  the  four  young  men,  Madame  de  Barge  ton 
understood  the  indifference  that  the  marquise  had  shown 
for  Lucien.  After  the  conversation  began,  and  each  of 
these  clever,  acute  minds  was  revealed  by  remarks 
which  had  more  sense  and  more  depth  than  Louise  had 
heard  in  a  month  in  the  provinces,  and,  above  all,  after 
the  great  poet  had  uttered  a  few  thrilling  words  (sig- 
nificant of  the  materialism  of  the  day  gilded  by  poesy), 
Louise  understood  du  Chatelet's  warning  of  the  previous 
evening.  Lucien  was  henceforth  nothing.  Every  one 
regarded  the  poor  unknown  3'oung  fellow  with  such 
cruel  indifference,  he  seemed  to  be  there  in  their  midst 
so  like  a  stranger  who  did  not  know  their  language, 
that  after  a  while  the  marquise  took  pity  on  him. 

"  Allow  me,"  she  said  to  Canalis,  "  to  present  to 
3'ou  Monsieur  de  Rubempre.  Your  position  in  the 
literary  world  is  so  high  that  I  am  sure  you  will  wel- 
come an  aspirant.  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  has  just 
arrived  from  Angouleme  ;  he  needs  your  introduction  to 
those  whose  business  it  is  to  bring  genius  to  light.  He 
has  as  3'et  no  enemies  who  can  make  his  fortune  by 
attacking  him.  It  w^ould  certainly  be  a  very  original 
thing  to  enable  him  to  obtain  through  friendship  that 
which  the  rest  of  3'ou  obtain  through  jealous}'." 

The  four  young  men  all  looked  at  Lucien  while  the 
marquise  spoke.  Though  de  Marsay  was  less  than  six 
feet  from  liim,  he  took  up  his  eyeglass  to  look  him 
over,  then  his  glances  went  from  Lucien  to  Madame 
de  Bargeton,  and  from  Madame  de  Bargeton  back  to 
Lucien,  uniting  them  in  one  sarcastic  look  which  mor- 
tified them  cruell}' ;  he  examined  them  as  though  they 
were   curious    animals,    then   he   smiled.     That   smile 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,      35 

was  like  the  thrust  of  a  dagger  to  the  great  man  of 
the  provinces.  Felix  de  Vandenesse  seemed  more 
charitable,  and  Armand  de  Montriveau  gave  Lucien  a 
look  which  sounded  him  to  the  core. 

"Madame,"  said  Monsieur  de  Canalis,  bowing,  "I 
will  obe}'  3'ou,  in  spite  of  the  personal  interests  which 
prompt  us  not  to  do  services  to  rivals,  —  but  you 
accustom  us  to  miracles."' 

"  Then  do  me  the  favor  to  dine  with  me  on  Mon- 
day next  and  meet  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  ;  you  can 
talk  at  your  ease  about  hterary  affairs  ;  and  I  will  try 
to  catch  a  few  of  the  tyrants  of  literature  and  the  noted 
persons  who  patronize  them,  —  the  author  of  '  Ourika,' 
for  instance,  and  some  of  the  young  poets  with  right 
opinions." 

"Madame  la  marquise,"  said  de  Marsay,  "if  3'ou 
favor  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  for  his  intellect,  I  shall  do 
so  for  his  beauty ;  I  will  give  him  such  advice  as  will 
make  him  the  happiest  dandy  in  Paris.  After  that  he 
can  be  a  poet  if  he  likes." 

Madame  de  Bargeton  thanked  her  cousin  by  a  look 
full  of  gratitude. 

''I  did  not  know  3'ou  were  jealous  of  men  of  intel- 
lect," said  Montriveau  to  de  Marsay.  "Happiness 
kills  poets,  you  know." 

"  Is  that  why  Monsieur  de  Canalis  is  proposing  to 
be  married?"  said  de  Marsa}-,  wishing  to  see  how 
Madame  d'Espard  would  receive  the  idea. 

Canalis  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  Madame  d'  Espard, 
Madame  de  Chaulieu's  niece,  began  to  laugh. 

Lucien,  who  felt  in  his  new  clothes  like  one  of  the 
Egyptian  hermae,  was  ashamed  of  having  nothing  to 


36       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

reply.  At  last,  however,  he  managed  to  sa}'  to  Madame 
d'Espard  in  his  tender  voice :  "  Your  goodness,  ma- 
dame,  will  oblige  me  to  succeed." 

Du  Chatelet  entered  the  box  at  this  moment,  snatch- 
ing his  opportunity  to  make  his  friend  Montriveau,  one 
of  the  kings  of  Paris,  present  him  to  the  marquise. 
He  bowed  to  Madame  de  Bargeton,  and  begged 
Madame  d'Espard  to  pardon  the  libert}-  he  had  taken 
in  invading  her  box ;  he  had  been  so  long  separated 
from  his  comrade  Montriveau,  —  the}'  had  not  seen 
each  other  since  the}'  parted  in  the  desert. 

"  To  part  in  the  desert,  and  meet  at  the  opera !  "  said 
Lucien. 

"  Truly  theatrical,"  said  Canalis. 

Montriveau  at  once  presented  the  Baron  du  Chatelet 
to  the  marquise,  who  granted  the  former  secretary  of 
the  Imperial  princess  a  reception  that  was  all  the  more 
cordial  partly  because  she  had  seen  him  well  received 
in  three  boxes  (Madame  de  Serizy  especialh'  receiving 
only  those  who  w^ere  properl}'  admitted),  and  also  be- 
cause he  had  the  honor  of  being  one  of  Montriveau's 
companions.  This  last  claim  was  evidently  so  strong 
that  Madame  de  Bars-eton  observed  in  the  tone  and 
looks  and  manners  of  the  four  gentlemen  that  the}' 
admitted  du  Chatelet  as  one  of  themselves  without 
discussion.  The  dictatorial  bearing  of  du  Chatelet  in 
the  provinces  was  thus  explained  to  her. 

Presently  the  Baron  seemed  to  see  Lucien  for  the 
first  time,  and  he  made  him  one  of  those  chilling  little 
bows  by  which  one  man  slights  another  and  indicates  to 
men  of  the  world  the  inferior  position  that  he  holds  in 
society.     The  bow  was  accompanied  by  a  look  whicb 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,      37 

seemed  to  say,  "How  did  he  get  here?"  The  look 
was  understood,  for  de  Marsa}'  leaned  over  to  Montii- 
veau  and  said  in  his  ear,  but  loud  enough  for  the  baron 
to  hear  him  :  "  Ask  him  who  that  singular  young  man 
is  ;  he  looks  like  the  lay  figure  in  a  tailor's  window." 

Du  Chatelet  spoke  for  a  moment  in  a  low  voice  with 
his  friend  Montriveau,  as  if  renewing  acquaintance,  but 
really,  no  doubt,  he  was  cutting  his  young  rival  to 
pieces. 

Surprised  by  the  readiness  of  mind  and  the  brilliant 
cleverness  with  which  these  men  answered  each  other, 
Lucien  was  bewildered  by  the  wit  and  epigram,  and, 
especially,  the  facile  flow  of  their  talk  and  their  ease 
of  manner.  The  luxur}"  of  clothes  and  surroundings 
which  had  so  confounded  him  in  the  morning,  he  now 
found  in  ideas  and  in  words.  He  asked  himself  b}-  what 
mysterious  faculty  these  men  could  find  at  will  such 
piquant  reflections  and  repartees,  which  he  knew  that  he 
himself  could  not  have  imagined  without  long  medi- 
tation. Besides,  these  five  men  of  the  world  were  per- 
fectly at  their  ease,  not  onl}-  in  their  talk,  but  also  in 
their  clothes  ;  they  seemed  to  wear  nothing  new  and 
nothing  old  ;  there  was  nothing  resplendent  about  them, 
and  yet  they  attracted  the  eye.  Their  luxury  to-day 
was  that  of  3'esterda3'  and  would  be  that  of  to-morrow. 
Lucien  became  suddenlv  aware  that  he  looked  like  a 
man  who  was  handsomely  dressed  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  de  Marsa}-  to  Felix  de 
Vandenesse,  "that  little  de  Rastignac  is  flying  himself 
like  a  kite  !  there  he  is  with  the  Marquise  de  Listomere  ; 
he 's  making  progress !    I  wonder  why  he  keeps   his 


38       Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

opera-glass  on  us,  —  possibly  he  knows  monsieur  ? " 
added  the  dandy,  addressing  Lucien,  but  without  look- 
ing at  him. 

"  It  would  be  strange,"  remarked  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton,  '•'•  if  the  name  of  a  man  we  are  all  proud  of  in  his 
native  town  had  not  reached  him  ;  his  sister  lately 
heard  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  read  some  fine  verses  at 
my  house." 

Felix  de  Vandenesse  and  de  Marsay  now  took  leave 
of  Madame  d'Espard  and  made  their  way  to  Madame 
de  Listomere,  a  sister  of  Felix.  The  second  act  was 
beginning,  and  Madame  d'Espard,  her  cousin,  and  Lucien 
were  presently  left  alone,  —  some  of  the  visitors  depart- 
ing to  explain  Madame  de  Bargeton  to  the  women  who 
were  puzzled  by  her  presence  ;  others  to  tell  of  the  arrival 
of  a  poet  and  to  laugh  at  his  clothes.  Canalis  returned 
to  the  Duchesse  de  Chaiilieu,  and  did  not  leave  her  box 
again.  Lucien  was  thankful  for  the  dispersion  caused 
b}'  the  rising  of  the  curtahi. 

All  Madame  de  Bargeton's  fears  concerning  Lucien 
were  increased  by  the  attention  her  cousin  had  bestowed 
on  the  Baron  du  Chatelet,  which  was  totall}'  different 
from  the  protecting  politeness  she  had  showed  to  Lucien. 
During  the  second  act  Madame  de  Listomere's  box 
continued  full  of  visitors,  who  seemed  to  be  excited 
b}'  some  conversation  relating  to  Madame  de  Bargeton 
and  Lucien.  Eugene  de  Rastignac  was  evidentl}"  the 
wit  of  the  party  ;  he  gave  the  cue  to  that  Parisian 
laughter  which,  daily  seeking  pastures  new,  hurries  to 
exhaust  the  present  subject  and  to  leave  it,  old  and 
worn-out,  for  another.  Madame  d'Espard  herself  be- 
came  uneas}' ;  but  knowing  that  spite  does   not  long 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      39 

leave  those  it  wounds  in  ignorance  of  its  malice,  she 
awaited  the  end  of  the  act. 

When  feelings  undergo  a  rcA^ilsion,  as  was  now  the 
case  with  Lucien,  and  also  with  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
very  strange  things  can  happen  in  a  short  space  of  time  ; 
moral  revolutions  are  produced  by  laws  which  work 
rapidl}'.  Louise  had  constantly  in  her  memory  the  wise 
and  politic  words  which  du  Chatelet  had  said  to  her 
about  Lucien  as  thev  drove  home  from  the  Vaudeville. 
Every  sentence  was  a  prophec}',  and  Lucien  seemed  bent 
on  fulfilling  them  all.  In  losing  his  illusions  about  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton,  as  Madame  de  Bargeton  had  lost 
hers  about  him,  the  poor  lad,  whose  fate  was  something 
like  that  of  Jean- Jacques  Rousseau,  imitated  the  latter 
in  so  far  as  being  fascinated  by  Madame  d'Espard  and 
falling  in  love  with  her  on  the  spot. 

Young  men,  or  men  who  remember  the  emotions  of 
their  youth,  will  know  that  this  passion  was  extremel}^ 
probable  and  natural.  The  charming  little  manners, 
the  choice  language,  the  delicate  tones  of  the  voice  of 
this  graceful  woman,  so  high  in  station  and  so  envied, 
affected  the  poet  as  Madame  de  Bargeton  had  affected 
him  in  Angouleme.  The  mobility  of  his  character 
prompted  him  to  desire  her  powerful  influence,  —  could 
he  but  win  her,  it  was  his  !  he  had  succeeded  in  Angou- 
leme with  another  woman,  why  not  here  ?  Involuntarily, 
and  in  spite  of  the  magic  of  the  opera,  novel  as  it  was 
to  him,  his  eyes,  attracted  by  this  magnificent  Celimene, 
turned  to  her  constantly ;  the  more  he  looked  at  her, 
the  more  he  longed  to  look. 

Madame  de  Bargeton  intercepted  one  of  these  spark- 
ling glances.     She  began  to  observe  Lucien,  and  soon 


40       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

saw  that  he  was  more  intent  upon  the  marquise  than 
upon  the  pla3\  She  would  willingly  have  resigned  her- 
self to  be  deserted  for  the  fift}'  daughters  of  Danaiis ; 
but  no  sooner  had  a  glance,  more  ambitious,  ardent, 
and  significant  than  the  rest,  explained  to  her  what 
was  passing  in  Lucien's  mind,  than  she  became  jealous, 
though  less  for  the  future  than  for  the  past. 

"He  never  looked  at  me  like  that!"  she  thought. 
"  Good  God  !  Chatelet  was  right." 

She  saw  the  blunder  of  her  love.  When  a  woman 
comes  to  repent  of  her  weakness,  she  passes,  as  it  were, 
a  sponge  over  her  life  and  effaces  everything.  Never- 
theless, though  every  movement  of  Lucien  angered  her, 
she  continued  calm. 

De  Marsay  returned  between  the  acts  accompanied 
by  Monsieur  de  Listomere,  for  the  purpose  of  informing 
the  haughty  marquise  that  the  over-dressed  3'outh  she 
had  admitted  to  her  box  was  no  more  named  de  Ru- 
bempre  than  a  Jew  was  possessed  of  a  Christian  name  ; 
Lucien,  they  told  her,  was  the  son  of  an  apothecary 
named  Chardon.  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  who  was 
well-informed  about  Angouleme,  had  been,  thej^  said, 
amusing  two  boxes  already  at  the  expense  of  the 
mummy  whom  Madame  d'Espard  called  her  cousin,  and 
the  precaution  that  lad}'  took  to  have  an  apothecary  in 
her  train.  To  this  de  Marsay  added  a  number  of 
Parisian  witticisms,  forgotten  as  soon  as  said,  behind 
which,  however,  lurked  du  Chatelet,  the  actual  worker 
of  this  Carthaginian  treachery. 

''  My  dear,"  said  Madame  d'Espard  to  Madame  de 
Bargeton,  behind  her  fan,  "do  pray  tell  me  if  your 
protege  is  really  Monsieur  de  Rubempre.  " 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      41 

"He  has  taken  his  mother's  name!"  said  Louise, 
embarrassed. 

"  But  what  was  his  father's  name?" 

"Ciiardon!  " 

"  Wiiatdidhe  do?" 

"  He  was  a  chemist !  " 

"I  felt  certain,  mj'  dear  cousin,  that  those  people 
could  not  be  laughing  at  you,  a  lad}^  whom  I  accept. 
But  I  must  sa}^  I  do  not  care  to  have  jokes  made  about 
my  acquaintance  with  the  son  of  an  apothecary.  If 
you  are  willing,  let  us  leave  the  theatre  together 
immediatel3\" 

Madame  d'Espard's  look  and  manner  became  at  once 
supercilious,  though  Lucien  could  not  imagine  in  what 
way  he  had  caused  so  great  a  change  of  countenance. 
He  first  thought  that  his  waistcoat  was  in  bad  taste 
(which  was  true),  that  the  fashion  of  his  coat  was  ex- 
aggerated (which  was  aIso  true),  and  he  determined  to  go 
the  next  day  to  the  most  celebrated  tailor  in  Paris  and 
obtain  the  proper  clothes  in  which  he  might,  on  the  fol- 
lowing Monday,  rival  the  men  he  was  to  meet  at  Madame 
d'Espard's  dinner.  Lost  in  reflection,  he  sat  during  the 
third  act  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  stage.  While  ap- 
parently' looking  at  the  splendid  show  before  him,  he 
was  giving  himself  up  to  his  dream  about  Madame 
d'Espard.  The  sudden  coldness  of  her  manner  was  a 
violent  rebuff  to  the  intellectual  ardor  with  which  he 
plunged  into  this  new  emotion,  careless  of  the  diffi- 
culties he  perceived  and  resolving  to  vanquish  them. 
He  came  out  of  his  meditation  at  last  to  look  again  at 
his  new  idol,  but,  on  turning  his  head,  he  saw  that  he 
was  alone  ;  he  heard  a  slight  noise,  the  door  was  clos- 


42       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

ing ;  Madame  d'Espard  had  carried  off  her  cousin. 
Lucien  was  amazed  to  the  last  degree  at  this  abrupt 
desertion  ;  but  he  did  not  tliink  long  about  it,  for  the 
reason  that  it  was  utterly  inexplicable. 

When  the  two  women  were  in  their  carriage  and  it 
was  rolling  along  the  rue  de  Richelieu  towards  the  fau- 
bourg Saint  Honore  the  marquise  said  in  a  tone  of  re- 
pressed anger :  — ' 

"  M3'  dear  friend,  what  are  3'ou  thinking  of?  Pray 
wait  till  the  son  of  an  apothecary  is  reall}'  famous  be- 
fore 3'ou  take  him  up.  The  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu  does 
not  yet  acknowledge  Canalis ;  though  he  is  already 
celebrated,  and  a  gentleman  too.  That  3'outh  is  neither 
3"our  son  nor  your  lover  —  at  least  I  suppose  so?  "  said 
the  haught3'  woman,  casting  a  sharp  inquisitive  look  at 
her  cousin. 

"How  luck3"  for  me  that  I  kept  him  at  a  distance 
and  granted  nothing,"  thought  Madame  de  Bargeton. 

"  Well,"  resumed  the  marquise,  who  took  the  expres- 
sion of  her  cousin's  e3'es  for  an  answer,  "let  him  go 
now,  I  entreat  3'OU.  To  dare  to  assume  an  illustrious 
name  !  —  wh3'  that 's  an  audacit3^  society  ought  to  pun- 
ish. Of  course  I  admit  it  is  his  mother's  name ;  but 
pra3'  reflect,  my  dear,  that  the  king  alone  has  the  right 
to  confer,  by  letters-patent,  the  name  of  the  famil3^  of 
Rubempre  on  the  son  of  a  daughter  of  the  house.  If 
she  made  a  mesalUance,  the  favor  would  be  immense, 
and  it  would  require  a  fortune,  the  rendering  of  great 
services,  and  ver3^  high  influence  to  obtain  it.  Those 
absurdl3"  fine  clotlies  lie  is  wearing  prove  that  he  is 
neither  rich  nor  a  gentleman  ;  his  face  is  handsome, 
but  he  strikes  me  as  ver3'  dull ;  he  does  not  know  how 


Great  Ma?i  of  the  Provinces  m  Pains.      43 

to  carry  himself,  nor  how  to  talk ;  in  short,  he  has  never 
had  any  social  education.  How  came  3'ou  ever  to  take 
him  up  ?  " 

Madame  de  Bargeton,  who  now  rejected  and  de- 
nied Lucien  as  Lucien  had  alread}^  rejected  and  denied 
her  in  his  own  mind,  was  terribly  alarmed  lest  her 
cousin  should  find  out  the  truth  of  her  journey  from 
Angouleme. 

"  Dear  cousin,"  she  said.  "  I  am  in  despair  at  hav- 
ing compromised  you." 

"  I  cannot  be  compromised,"  said  Madame  d'Espard, 
smiling.     "  I  am  thinking  onl}'  of  you." 

"  But  3'ou  invited  him  to  dinner  on  Monda}'." 

"I  shall  be  ill,"  said  the  marquise,  quickl}^ ;  "you 
can  let  him  know  of  it ;  I  shall  give  orders  that  he  is 
not  to  be  admitted  under  either  of  his  names." 

Lucien  took  it  into  his  head  to  walk  about  the  fo3'er 
between  the  two  last  acts,  seeing  that  everybodj'  did  so. 
None  of  the  persons  who  had  come  into  Madame  d'Es- 
pard's  box  bowed  to  him  or  even  appeared  to  see  him, 
which  seemed  a  most  extraordinary  thing  to  the  poet  of 
the  provinces.  Also  du  Chatelet,  whom  he  tried  to 
join,  watched  him  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  and 
evaded  him.  Growing  more  and  more  convinced  b}' 
the  appearance  of  the  men  who  were  walking  about  the 
fo3'er  that  his  clothes  were  ridiculous,  Lucien  returned 
to  his  box  and  sat  in  a  corner  of  it,  where  he  staved 
during  the  rest  of  the  opera,  absorbed  partl3'  b3'  the 
splendid  spectacle  of  the  ballet  in  the  fifth  act,  partly 
by  the  aspect  of  the  boxes  along  which  his  e3'es  ranged, 
and  partl3^  b3'  his  own  reflections  in  presence  of  this 
great  world  of  Parisian  societ3'. 


44       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


(( 


So  this  is  my  kingdom  !  "  he  said  to  himself;  ''this 
is  the  world  I  have  to  master !  " 

He  went  back  to  his  hotel  on  foot,  thinking  over  all 
that  was  said  b}^  the  persons  who  had  come  to  Madame 
d'Espard's  box ;  over  their  manners,  their  gestures, 
their  wa}^  of  coming  in  and  going  out ;  all  of  which  came 
back  into  his  memory  with  astonishing  accurac3\ 


Great  Mayi  of  the  Proviyices  in  Paris,      45 


III. 


ONE    LOST    ILLUSION. 


The  next  morning,  towards  mid-da}',  Lucien's  first 
act  was  to  go  to  Staub  the  great  tailor  of  that  period. 
From  him  he  obtained,  b}*  entreat}'  and  the  assurance 
of  cash  pa3'ment,  a  promise  that  his  coat  should  be 
ready  for  the  famous  Monday.  Staub  even  went  so 
far  as  to  promise  him  a  waistcoat,  a  pair  of  trousers, 
and  a  charming  overcoat  for  the  decisive  day.  Lucien 
ordered  shirts,  handkerchiefs,  in  short,  a  complete  little 
outfit  at  a  linen-maker's,  and  had  himself  measured  for 
boots  and  shoes  b}'  a  celebrated  boot-maker.  He  bought 
a  handsome  cane  at  Verdier's,  gloves  and  shirt-buttons 
from  Madame  Irlande  ;  in  a  word,  he  did  his  best  to 
put  himself  on  the  level  of  the  greatest  dandies.  When 
he  had  gratified  all  his  fancies,  he  made  his  way  to  the 
rue  Neuve-de-Luxembourg  and  found  that  Louise  had 
already-  gone  out. 

"Madame  dines  with  Madame  d'Espard,"  said  Al- 
bert ine,  "  and  will  not  return  till  late." 

Lucien  dined  at  a  restaurant  in  the  Palais-Royal  for 
forty  sous  and  went  to  bed  early.  The  next  day,  Sun- 
da}',  he  called  to  see  Louise  b}'  eleven  o'clock,  and  was 
told  she  was  not  up.     At  two  o'clock  he  returned. 

"Madame  does  not  receive,"  said  Albertine  ;  "but 
she  gave  me  a  little  note  for  you. 


jj 


46       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  Does  not  receive  !  "  exclaimed  Lucien,  "  wh}'  I  am 
nobody." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Albertine  in  a  very  impertinent 
tone. 

Lucien,  less  surprised  at  Albertine's  behavior  than  at 
the  fact  of  receiving  a  note  from  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
took  the  missive  and  read  the  following  disheartening 
lines  as  he  walked  along :  — 

"  INIadame  d'Espard  is  indisposed ;  she  cannot  receive  you 
on  Monday.  I  myself  am  not  well,  but  I  am  just  dressing  to 
go  to  her  and  keep  her  company.  I  am  very  sorry  for  this 
little  disappointment ;  but  your  talents  reassure  me.  I  am 
certain  you  will  succeed  without  clap-trap  assistance." 

"  And  no  signature!  "  exclaimed  Lucien,  who  found 
himself  in  the  Tuileries  without  knowing  he  had  walked 
a  step.  The  gift  of  second  sight  which  some  men 
of  talent  possess  made  him  suspect  the  catastrophe 
of  which  this  chilling  note  was  merel}'  the  forerunner. 
Lost  in  thought  he  wandered  on,  looking  at  the  statues 
in  the  place  Louis  XV.  The  weather  was  fine.  Hand- 
some carriages  passed  him  in  a  steady  stream,  going 
towards  the  avenue  of  the  Champs  Elysees.  He  fol- 
lowed the  crowd  of  pedestrians,  and  watched  the  three 
or  four  thousand  carriages  which  flock  along  that  fine 
avenue  of  a  Sunday  and  make  it  another  Longchamps. 

Dazzled  by  the  brilliant  show  of  horses,  toilets,  and 
liveries,  he  walked  on  and  on,  till  he  reached  the  Arc 
de  Triomphe,  then  unfinished.  What  were  his  feehngs 
when,  as  he  turned  to  retrace  his  steps,  he  saw  Ma- 
dame d'Espard  and  Madame  de  Bargeton  in  an  elegant 
caleche,  l)ehind  which  waved  the  plumes  of  the  chasseur 
in   green   and   gold  I      The  stream   of  carriages  went 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      47 

slowl}'  and  then  stopped  on  account  of  an  obstruction. 
Lucien  could  see  the  transformation  of  Louise  ;  her  old 
self  was  not  recognizable  ;  the  colors  of  her  toilet  were 
chosen  in  a  way  to  set  off  her  complexion  ;  her  gown 
was  charming,  her  hair  most  becomingly  arranged,  while 
a  dainty  bonnet  of  exquisite  taste  was  remarkable  be- 
side even  that  of  Madame  d'Espard,  who  controlled  the 
fashion.  There  is  an  indefinable  way  in  which  a  man 
must  wear  a  hat ;  too  far  back  and  it  gives  him  a  bold 
look ;  too  far  forward  and  you  think  him  suspicious  ; 
over  to  one  side  and  his  air  is  cavalier ;  but  a  well-bred 
woman  may  put  on  her  bonnet  precisely  as  she  fancies, 
and  she  always  looks  well.  Madame  de  Bargeton  had 
solved  that  curious  problem  instantl3\  A  belt  defined 
her  slender  waist.  She  had  already  caught  the  ges- 
tures and  ways  of  her  cousin  ;  sitting  beside  her,  she 
played  with  an  elegant  vinaigrette  fastened  to  one  of 
the  fingers  of  her  right  hand  b}'  a  little  chain,  exhibit- 
ing thus  her  slender  and  well-gloved  hand  without  ap- 
parently intending  it.  In  short,  she  had  made  herself 
like  Madame  d'Espard  without  imitating  her ;  she  was 
a  worthy  cousin  of  the  elegant  marquise,  who  seemed 
to  be  proud  of  her  pupil. 

The  men  and  women  on  the  sidewalk  gazed  at  the 
brilliant  equipage  which  bore  the  arms  of  the  d'Espards 
supported  by  those  of  the  Blamont-Chauvr3'S.  Lucien 
was  surprised  at  the  great  number  of  persons  who 
seemed  to  know  the  two  cousins  ;  he  was  ignorant  that 
the  whole  of  Paris,  comprised  in  twent3'  salons,  already 
knew  of  the  relationship  between  Madame  d'Espard 
and  Madame  de  Bargeton.  Young  men  on  horseback, 
among  whom  Lucien  recognized  de  Marsay  and  Rastig- 


48       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

iiac,  joined  the  caleche  of  the  two  ladies  to  escort  it  to 
the  Bois.  Lucien  could  easily  perceive  b}^  their  ges- 
tures that  they  were  complimenting  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton  on  her  toilet.  Madame  d'Espard  sparkled  with 
grace  and  health  :  her  illness  was  evidentl}'  a  pretext 
to  avoid  receiving  Lucien  ;  for,  as  he  did  not  fail  to  ob- 
serve, she  had  not  postponed  the  dinner  to  another  day. 
The  angr\'  poet  went  towards  the  caleche,  walking 
slowl3%  and  when  he  was  within  full  view  of  the  two 
women  he  bowed  to  them.  Madame  de  Bargeton 
would  not  see  him ;  the  marquise  looked  at  him 
through  her  e}  eglass  and  did  not  return  his  bow. 

This  repudiation  by  the  Parisian  aristocracy  was  by  no 
means  the  same  as  that  by  the  sovereigns  of  Angouleme  ; 
when  the  latter  attempted  to  wound  him  the}'  admitted  his 
power  and  considered  him  a  man  ;  whereas,  to  Madame 
d'Espard  he  actualh^  had  no  existence.  It  was  not  a 
judgment ;  it  was  a  refusal  of  justice.  A  cold  chill 
seized  the  poor  poet  when  de  Marsa}^  took  up  his  636- 
glass  and  looked  at  him  ;  that  done,  the  Parisian  lion 
dropped  the  glass  in  a  manner  that  seemed  to  Lucien 
like  the  fall  of  the  knife  of  the  guillotine. 

The  carriage  passed  on.  Anger  and  a  desire  for 
vengeance  took  possession  of  the  despised  man  ;  if  he 
could  have  laid  hands  on  Madame  de  Bargeton  then 
and  there,  he  would  have  strangled  her ;  he  would  have 
made  himself  a  Fouquier-Tinville  for  the  delight  of  send- 
ing Madame  d'Espard  to  the  scaffold  ;  gladly  would  he 
have  made  de  Marsa}'  suffer  some  of  those  refined  tor- 
tures which  savages  invent.  He  saw  Canalis  go  l\y  on 
horseback,  elegant  as  the  most  winning  of  poets  should 
be,  and  bowing  right  and  left  to  the  prettiest  women. 


Great  Man  of  the  Pi^ovinces  in  Paris.      49 

"My  God!  gold  at  any  price!"  thought  Lucien  ; 
"  mone}'  is  the  only  power  before  which  this  world 
kneels.  No,"  cried  his  conscience,  "  not  mone}^,  fame  ; 
and  fame  is,  work!  Work?  that  is  David's  word. 
Good  God,  why  I  am  here?  But  I  will  triumph  yet! 
I  will  drive  along  this  avenue  with  chasseurs  to  m}' 
carriage  ;  I  will  win  some  Marquise  d'Espard  N'et.'' 

Muttering  these  furious  words,  he  went  to  dine  at 
Hurbain's  for  forty  sous.  The  next  day,  at  nine 
o'clock,  he  went  to  see  Louise,  intending  to  reproach 
her  for  her  barbarity.  Not  onl}'  was  Madame  de 
Barge  ton  "  not  at  home  "  to  him,  but  the  porter  at 
the  gate  refused  to  allow  him  to  pass  up.  He  then 
stationed  himself  in  the  street  and  watched  till  twelve 
o'clock.  At  that  hour  du  Chatelet  left  the  house, 
caught  sight  of  the  poet  out  of  the  corner  of  his  e3'e, 
and  endeavored  to  avoid  him.  Lucien,  stung  to  the 
quick,  pursued  his  rival ;  du  Chatelet,  feeling  himself 
cornered,  turned  back  and  bowed  with  the  evident  in- 
tention of  passing  on  after  showing  that  civilit3'. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Lucien,  "  grant  me  a  moment;  I 
have  two  words  to  sav  to  vou.  You  have  shown  me 
some  friendship,  and  I  invoke  it  to  ask  you  a  trifling- 
service.  You  have  just  left  Madame  de  Bargeton  ; 
explain  to  me  the  cause  of  my  rejection  by  her  and 
by  Madame  d'Espard." 

"  Monsieur  Chardon,"  replied  du  Chatelet,  with  false 
kindliness,  "  do  you  know  wh}'  those  ladies  left  you 
at  the  Opera?" 

"  No,"  said  the  poor  poet. 

"Well,  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  has  done  j'ou  a  bad 
turn  at  the  start.     That  young  dand3',  being  questioned 

4 


50       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

about  3'ou,  declared  that  3'our  name  is  not  de  Rubempre, 
but  Cbardon,  that  your  mother  is  a  monthly'  nurse,  that 
3'our  father  during  his  lifetime  was  apothecar}"  at  I'Hou- 
meau,  a  suburb  of  Angouleme,  and  that  your  sister,  a 
prett}'  young  woman  who  ironed  shirts  admirabl}',  was 
about  to  marr}-  a  printer  in  Angouleme  named  Sechard. 
Such  is  the  world  !  If  30U  come  before  it  you  must  be 
discussed.  Monsieur  de  Marsay  returned  to  Madame 
d'Espard's  box  to  laugh  over  the  affair  with  her,  and 
the  two  ladies  at  once  disappeared,  feeling  that  they 
were  compromised  in  being  seen  there  with  j'ou.  Don't 
attempt  to  see  either  of  them  again.  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton  will  not  be  received  by  her  cousin  if  she  continues  to 
know  vou.  You  have  ofenius  ;  revenoe  vourself.  The 
world  disdains  you  ;  disdain  the  world.  Take  i-efuge  in 
a  garret ;  write  masterpieces  ;  seize  power  in  some  wa}', 
and  the  world  will  be  at  vour  feet ;  you  can  then  return 
the  bruises  it  has  given  you  on  the  very  ground  where 
A'ou  received  them.  The  more  reoard  Madame  de 
Bargeton  has  shown  you  in  the  past,  the  greater  the 
aversion  she  will  now  feel  to  you.  That  is  the  way  with 
women's  feelings.  The  question  now  is  not  to  recover 
her  as  a  friend,  but  to  avoid  making  her  an  enemy.  I 
will  show  you  a  means  of  doing  this.  She  must  have 
written  you  letters  ;  send  them  all  back  to  her  ;  she  will 
be  touched  by  such  an  act,  which  is  that  of  a  gentleman  ; 
later,  if  3'ou  should  happen  to  need  her,  she  will  not  be 
hostile.  As  for  me,  I  have  so  high  an  opinion  of  your 
future  career,  that  I  am  already  defending  you  every- 
where ;  and  henceforth  if  I  can  be  of  an}-  service  to  you, 
you  will  find  me  ready." 

Lucien  was  so  dejected,  pale,  and  overcome,  that  he 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      51 

did  not  return  the  frigidl}'  polite  salutation  which  the 
old  beau  bestowed  upon  him.  He  returned  to  his  hotel, 
where  he  found  Staub  himself,  who  had  come,  less  to  try 
on  the  clothes  (which  he  did  ivy  on)  than  to  ascertain 
from  the  landlady  of  the  "  Gaillard-Bois  "  the  financial 
standing  of  his  customer.  Lucien  had  arrived  in  a 
post-chaise  ;  Madame  de  Bargeton  had  brought  him  back 
from  the  tlieatre  in  her  carriage  last  Thursday  evening. 
So  far  so  good.  Staub  called  Lucien  "  Monsieur  le 
comte,"  and  took  pains  to  show  him  with  what  talent 
he  had  brouglit  out  his  handsome  shape. 

"  A  3^oung  man  dressed  like  that,"  he  said,  "  ma}' 
walk  in  the  Tuileries  and  marr^'  a  rich  Englishwoman 
in  a  fortnight." 

This  joke  of  the  German  tailor,  the  perfection  of  his 
clothes,  the  fineness  of  the  cloth,  and  the  grace  he  be- 
held in  his  person  as  he  turned  himself  about  before  the 
glass,  did  certainly  comfort  Lucien  and  make  him  less 
gloomy.  He  told  himself,  vagueh',  that  Paris  was  the 
capital  of  chance,  and  for  the  time  being  he  believed  in 
chance.  Had  n't  he  a  volume  of  poetrj^  and  a  magni- 
ficent romance,  "  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.,"  in 
manuscript?  Staub  promised  the  overcoat  and  the 
rest  of  the  garments  for  the  following  da}'. 

The  next  morning  the  boot-maker,  the  shirt-maker, 
and  the  tailor  arrived,  all  with  their  bills.  Lucien,  ig- 
norant of  the  usual  way  of  getting  rid  of  them,  and  still 
under  the  influence  of  provincial  customs,  paid  the 
bills  ;  but  having  paid  them,  he  became  aware  that  only 
three  hundred  and  sixty  francs  remained  out  of  the  two 
thousand  he  had  brought  with  him,  —  and  this  at  the  end 
of  a  week  !     Nevertheless,  he  dressed  himself  and  went 


52       Great  llan  of  the  Provinces  hi  Paris. 

to  walk  on  the  terrace  of  Les  Feiiillants.  There  he  had 
some  success.  He  was  so  well-dressed,  so  handsome, 
so  graceful,  that  several  women  looked  at  him  ;  and 
one  or  two  were  sufficiently  struck  by  his  beauty  to 
turn  round  and  observe  him  closel}'.  Lucien  studied 
the  bearing  and  manners  of  the  30ung  men,  and  learned 
his  lesson  in  deportment,  all  the  while  thinking  of  his 
three  hundred  and  sixty  francs. 

That  evening,  alone  in  his  room,  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  had  better  clear  up  the  problem  of  his  life  at 
the  hotel  du  Gaillard-Bois,  where  he  always  breakfasted 
in  the  plainest  manner,  thinking  to  economize.  He 
now  asked  for  his  bill,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
intends  moving,  and  found  himself  a  debtor  to  the 
amount  of  a  hundred  francs.  The  next  da}^  he  rushed 
to  the  Latin  quarter,  recommended  to  him  by  David  as 
the  least  expensive.  After  a  long  search  he  found  a 
miserable  furnished  lodging-house  in  tlie  rue  de  Clun}", 
near  the  Sorbonne,  where  he  obtained  a  single  room  for 
the  price  he  was  willing  to  give.  He  paid  his  bill  at 
once  at  the  hotel  du  Gaillard-Bois,  and  installed  himself 
in  the  hotel  Clun}'  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

After  taking  possession  of  his  miserable  chamber  he 
collected  all  Madame  de  Bargeton's  letters  and  made  a 
package  of  them  ;  then  he  laid  it  before  him  on  the  table 
and  set  himself  to  think  over  the  events  of  that  fatal 
week  before  beginning  to  write  to  her.  He  did  not  tell 
himself  that  he  had  been  the  first  to  reject  his  love  in 
his  own  mind,  without  a  thought  of  what  might  become 
of  his  Louise  in  Paris  ;  he  did  not  see  his  own  faith- 
lessness ;  he  saw  onl}'  his  actual  position,  and  he  laid 
the  blame  on  Madame  de  Bargeton  ;    instead  of  sup- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      53 

porting  him,  she  had  rained  him.  He  worked  himself 
into  a  rage,  turned  bitter,  and  wrote  the  following 
letter,  in  a  paroxysm  of  anger :  — 

"  What  thmk  you,  madame,  of  a  woman  who,  having 
taken  a  fancy  to  a  poor  timid  youth  full  of  those  noble 
beliefs  which  in  their  later  years  men  call  illusions,  employs 
all  the  charms  of  her  coquetry,  the  subtleness  of  her  mind, 
and  the  glorious  semblances  of  love  to  lead  that  youth  astray  ? 
The  flattering  promises  with  which  she  dazzled  him  cost  her 
nothing ;  she  drew  him  to  her  ;  she  took  possession  of  him  ; 
she  reproached  him  at  times  for  his  want  of  faith;  she 
cajoled  him.  When  that  youth  abandoned  his  family  and 
followed  her  blindly,  she  led  him  to  the  shore  of  a  boundless 
sea ;  with  a  smile  she  bade  him  enter  a  fragile  skiff,  and 
then  —  she  pushed  him  forth,  alone  and  helpless,  to  the 
storm ;  wishing  him  good-luck,  she  sat  upon  a  rock  above 
him  and  laughed. 

"  That  woman  is  you  ;  that  youth  is  I.  In  the  hands  of 
that  youth  a  proof  exists  which  can  betray  the  crime  of  your 
faithless  affection  and  the  favors  you  now  repudiate.  You 
may  blush  when  you  meet  the  youth  whom  you  flung  into 
the  waves  if  the  proof  that  you  once  held  him  to  your 
bosom  remains  in  his  hands.  Therefore,  when  you  open 
this  packet  the  proof  I  speak  of  will  be  in  yours.  You  are 
free  to  forget  aU.  After  indulging  the  noble  hopes  to  which 
you  pointed,  I  fall  to  the  realities  of  misery  in  the  mud  of 
Paris.  While  you  are  passing,  brilliant  and  adored,  among 
the  grandeurs  of  the  world  to  the  threshold  of  which  you 
enticed  my  steps,  I  shall  shiver  in  the  lonely  garret  to  which 
your  hand  has  cast  me. 

"Perhaps  remorse  may  seize  you  in  the  midst  of  your 
feasts  and  pleasures  ;  perhaps  you  will  then  think  of  him 
whom  you  drove  into  the  gulf.  W^ell,  when  that  day  comes, 
feel  no  remorse  !  From  the  depths  of  his  misery  that  youth 
offers  you  the  only  thing  that  remains  to  him,  —  forgiveness. 


54       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  Yes,  madame,  thanks  to  you,  nothing  does  remain  to  me 
—  nothing  ?  do  I  say  nothing  ?  but  it  is  of  that  the  world 
was  made  ;  genius  must  follow  God.  I  begin  by  imitating 
His  mercy ;  you  need  not  tremble  unless  I  turn  to  evil ;  then 
indeed  you  will  be  the  accomplice  of  my  faults.  No  !  I 
pity  you  because  you  will  no  longer  be  a  sharer  in  the  fame 
to  which  I  go,  led  on  by  labor." 

Having  written  that  emphatic  letter,  full  of  the 
sombre  dignit}-  which  an  artist  of  twenty-one  takes 
pleasure  in  exaggerating,  Lucien's  mind  reverted  to  his 
own  family.  He  saw  once  more  the  prett}'  rooms 
David  had  arranged  for  him  by  sacrificing  part  of  his 
narrow  means  ;  a  remembrance  of  the  tranquil,  modest, 
middle-class  joys  he  once  had  tasted  came  over  him  ; 
visions  of  his  mother,  of  his  sister,  of  David,  were 
about  him  ;  he  saw  once  more  the  tears  thev  shed  as  he 
left  them  to  seek  his  fortune,  and  he  wept ;  for  he  was 
now  alone  in  Paris,  the  city  of  his  hopes,  without 
friends,  without  protection. 

A  few  da^'s  later  Lucien  wrote  as  follows  to  his  sister 
who  was  married  b}^  that  time  to  David  Sechard  :  — 

My  Dear  Eve,  —  Sisters  have  the  melancholy  privilege 
of  sharing  more  griefs  than  joys  when  they  are  part  of  the 
existence  of  brothers  vowed  to  Art,  and  I  begin  to  fear  I 
shall  continue  to  be  a  burden  to  you.  Have  I  not  akeady 
worn  you  out,  —  all  of  you  who  have  sacrificed  yourselves 
for  me? 

But  the  memory  of  the  past,  full  of  the  joys  of  home, 
supports  me  in  the  solitude  of  my  present.  I  fly,  like  an 
eagle  returning  to  its  nest,  across  the  space  that  parts  me 
from  those  true  affections,  after  experiencing  the  first 
miseries,  the  first  deceptions  of  the  world  of  Paris. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      3^ 

Have  your  candles  blinked  ?  have  the  logs  on  the  hearth 
rolled  down  ?  and  has  my  mother  said,  "  There,  Lucien  is 
thinking  of  us  "  V  and  did  David  answer,  "  He  is  battling  with 
men  and  things  "  ? 

Eve,  I  write  this  letter  for  no  eye  but  yours.  To  you 
alone  do  I  dare  to  tell  the  good  and  the  evil  which  happen  to 
me,  blushing  for  both,  for  good  is  as  rare  here  as  evil  should 
be.  You  are  now  to  hear  many  things  in  few  words. 
Madame  de  Bargeton  was  ashamed  of  me ;  she  deserted,  dis- 
missed, repudiated  me  on  the  ninth  day  after  our  arrival. 
When  she  sees  me  she  turns  away  her  head ;  and  I,  to  follow 
her  into  society,  have  spent  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty  of 
the  two  thousand  francs  which  you,  my  dear  ones,  obtained 
for  me  with  such  difficulty.  "  Spent  them  !  "  I  hear  you  say, 
"  on  what  ?  "  My  poor  sister,  Paris  is  a  strange  whirligig ;  a 
dinner  can  be  had  for  eighteen  sous,  but  the  simplest  at  a 
fashionable  restaurant  costs  fifty  francs ;  there  are  waistcoats 
and  trousers  for  four  francs  forty  sous,  but  good  tailors  will 
make  none  under  a  hundred  francs.  People  pay  a  sou  to 
cross  a  gutter  when  it  rains ;  but  the  slightest  distance  in  a 
hackney-coach  costs  thirty-two  sous. 

After  living  for  a  time  in  the  fashionable  quarter,  I  have 
now  come  to  a  house  in  the  rue  de  Cluny,  one  of  the  mean- 
est and  gloomiest  streets  in  Paris,  squeezed  between  three 
churches  and  the  old  buildings  of  the  Sorbonne.  I  occupy  a 
furnished  room  on  the  fourth  floor  of  this  house,  and  though 
it  is  very  du'ty  and  shabby  I  pay  fifteen  francs  a  month  for 
it.  I  breakfast  on  a  two-sous  roll  and  a  sou's  worth  of  milk, 
but  I  dine  very  well  at  the  restaurant  of  a  man  named 
Flico'^^eaux  on  the  place  de  la  Sorbonne.  Until  next  winter 
my  living  will  not  cost  more,  at  least  I  hope  not,  than  sixty 
francs  a  month,  everything  included.  Therefore  my  remain- 
ing two  hundred  and  forty  francs  will  keep  me  four  months. 
Between  now  and  then  I  shall  surely  have  sold  my  novel, 
"  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX."  and  the  poems  you  know  of, 
which  I  shall  call  "  Daisies." 


56       Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Therefore  you  must  not  be  at  all  uneasy  about  me.  If 
the  present  is  mean,  and  bare,  and  chilling,  the  future  is 
blue,  and  rich,  and  splendid.  Nearly  all  great  men  have 
experienced  the  vicissitudes  which  now  affect  but  do  not 
overwhelm  me.  Plautus,  a  great  comic  poet,  was  a  miller's 
drudge  ;  Machiavelli  wrote  "  The  Prince,"  at  night  after 
laboring  in  a  crowd  of  other  workmen  by  day.  The  great 
Cervantes,  who  lost  an  arm  at  the  battle  of  Lepanto,  and 
was  called  "  the  old  one-armed  "  by  the  scribblers  of  his 
time,  was  forced  by  lack  of  a  publisher  to  put  an  interval 
of  ten  years  between  the  first  and  second  parts  of  his 
sublime  "  Don  Quixote." 

We,  of  our  time,  are  not  so  badly  off  as  that.  Distress 
and  poverty  can  only  touch  the  unknown  men  of  talent ; 
the  moment  they  make  a  name,  writers  become  rich,  and  I 
shall  be  rich.  I  live  by  thought ;  I  pass  the  greater 
part  of  my  day  in  the  library  of  Sainte-Genevieve,  where 
I  am  gaining  the  education  I  still  need,  without  which  I 
could  not  go  far. 

To-day,  therefore,  I  am  almost  happy.  In  a  few  more 
days  I  shall  be  joyously  reconciled  to  my  position.  I  give 
myself  up  through  all  my  waking  hours  to  a  toil  I  love ; 
material  living  is  secured  to  me  ;  I  meditate  much,  I  study ; 
I  do  not  see  that  I  can  now  be  wounded,  having  renounced 
society,  in  which  my  vanity  did  suffer  for  a  time.  Illustrious 
men  in  all  ages  have  lived  apart  from  the  world.  They  are 
like  the  birds  in  a  grove,  they  sing,  they  charm  all  Nature, 
but  no  eye  sees  them.  Thus  will  I  do  —  and  so  doing  I 
shall  realize  the  ambitious  plans  of  my  soul. 

I  do  not  regret  Madame  de  Bargeton.  A  woman  who 
could  act  as  she  has  acted  does  not  deserve  a  thought.  Neither 
do  I  regret  having  quitted  Angouleme.  That  woman  did 
well  for  me  when  she  persuaded  me  to  Paris  and  cast  me 
upon  my  own  resources.  Paris  is  the  home  of  writers, 
thinkers,  poets.  Here,  alone,  can  fame  be  cultivated  ;  akeady 
I  feed  upon  the  noble  sustenance  she  garners  for  the  soul  in 


Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Pai^is.      57 

these  days.  Here  writers  find,  in  the  museums,  in  the  col- 
lections, the  living  works  of  all  the  genius  of  the  past  to 
warm  and  stimulate  their  imagination.  Here,  alone,  vast 
libraries,  always  open,  offer  food  and  information  to  the 
mind.  In  short,  there  is  in  Paris,  in  the  air,  in  every  detail 
of  its  being,  a  soul  which  breathes  and  impresses  itself  on 
all  literary  creation.  We  learn  more  things  in  half  an  hour, 
by  merely  conversing  in  a  cafe  or  by  spending  one  evening  at 
the  theatre,  than  in  ten  years  of  provincial  life.  Here,  in 
truth,  all  things  are  a  drama  to  the  eye,  comparison  and 
instruction  to  the  mind.  Extreme  cheapness,  excessive  cost, 
that  is  Paris,  where  every  bee  can  find  its  honey  and  every 
soul  may  assimilate  what  it  needs.  Therefore,  though  I 
suffer  just  now,  I  repent  of  nothing.  On  the  contrary,  a 
noble  future  spreads  before  me  and  uplifts  my  heart,  wounded 
for  the  moment  only. 

Adieu,  my  dear  sister ;  do  not  ex|)ect  to  hear  from  me 
regularly ;  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  Paris  is  that  one  does 
not  realize  how  time  flies.  Life  rushes  on  with  frightful 
rapidity.  I  kiss  my  mother,  and  David,  and  you,  dear  Eve, 
more  tenderly  than  ever. 

Your  LuciEN. 


58       Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 


IV. 


TWO   VARIETIES    OF    PUBLISHER. 

Flicoteaux  is  a  name  inscribed  on  man}'  memories. 
Few  students  lived  in  the  Latin  quarter  during  the  first 
twelve  years  of  the  Restoration  who  did  not  frequent 
that  temple  of  hunger  and  povert3\  The  dinner,  com- 
posed of  three  dishes,  cost  eighteen  sous,  including  a 
decanter  of  wine  or  a  bottle  of  beer ;  twentj'-two  sous 
with  a  whole  bottle  of  wine.  The  cause  that  undoubt- 
edly prevented  this  friend  of  youth  from  making  a 
colossal  fortune  was  an  item  in  his  prospectus  printed 
in  large  letters  and  thus  worded  :  Bread  at  discre- 
tion, —  in  other  words,  unlimited  bread.  Man}"  a  dis- 
tinguished fame  had  Flicoteaux  for  its  foster-father. 
Certainly  the  heart  of  more  than  one  famous  man  must 
be  conscious  of  a  thousand  ineffable  memories  as  he 
passes  that  well-known  shop  window,  with  its  little 
panes,  looking  on  the  place  de  la  Sorbonne  and  the 
rue  Neuve-de-Richelieu,  which  Flicoteaux  II.  and  III. 
have  respected,  even  after  the  July  days.  These  suc- 
cessors of  the  first  Flicoteaux  have  had  the  sense  to 
leave  untouched  the  dingy  tints  and  the  respectable 
elderly  air  which  manifest  so  deep  a  disdain  for  the 
charlatanism  of  exteriors,  — that  novel  form  of  adver- 
tisement made  to  the  eyes  at  the  expense  of  the  stomach 
by  nearly  all  the  restaurateurs  of  these  days.     Instead 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      59 

of  the  stuffed  game-birds  destined  never  to  be  cooked ; 
instead  of  those  fantastic  fishes,  such  as  never  swam  ; 
instead  of  "  earl}'  vegetables"  (which  might  be  called 
antediluvial),  exposed  in  specious  show  to  entice  the 
corporals  and  their  womenfolk,  the  honest  Flicoteaux 
exhibited  his  salad-bowls,  patched  with  man}'  a  rivet, 
or  heaps  of  stewed  prunes,  rejoicing  the  eyes  of  the 
consumer,  sure  that  the  word  dessert^  delusive  on  other 
prospectuses,  was  a  reality  at  Flicoteaux's.  Six-pound 
loaves  cut  in  four  were  likewise  reassuring  as  to  the 
bread  ad  lihitwn. 

Such  w^as  the  luxury  of  an  establishment  which,  had 
it  existed  in  his  dav,  Moliere  would  have  rendered 
famous,  so  mirth-provoking  is  the  sound  of  an  epigram- 
matic name.  Flicoteaux  exists  ;  it  will  exist  so  long 
as  students  eat  to  live.  Yes,  it  was  and  is  where  they 
eat,  —  nothing  more  nor  less  than  that ;  but  they  eat 
there  as  they  work  elsewhere,  with  a  serious-  or  joyous 
diligence  according  to  their  characters  or  their  circum- 
stances. This  celebrated  establishment  consisted,  at 
the  time  of  which  we  speak,  of  two  long,  low,  narrow 
rooms,  placed  at  right  angles,  and  lighted,  one  from  the 
place  de  la  Sorbonne,  the  other  from  the  rue  Neuve-de- 
Richelieu.  Both  were  furnished  with  tables,  probably 
taken  from  some  convent  refectory,  for  their  length  was 
monastic ;  and  the  places  for  the  regular  customers 
wej-e  marked  by  napkins  rolled  up  and  thrust  into  num- 
bered metal  rings.  Flicoteaux  I.  changed  his  table- 
linen  only  once  a  week,  but  Fhcoteaux  11.  changed,  it  is 
said,  twice  a  week  as  soon  as  he  found  that  competiti^'i 
was  threatening  the  dynasty. 

This  restaurant  was,  in  fact,  a  workshop  with  suitable 


60       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

utensils,  rather  than  a  hall  of  festive  pleasure  ;  ever}' 
one  ate  his  food  and  departed  quicklj-.  The  waiters 
came  and  went  without  lingering ;  all  were  busy ;  all 
were  needed.  The  viands  were  not  various  ;  the  potato 
was  perpetual.  Ireland  might  not  possess  a  potato  ; 
the  root  might  be  lacking  everj'where  else,  but  at 
Flicoteaux's  never.  For  the  last  thirtj^  years  it  has 
flourished  there,  of  that  beautiful  golden  color  loved 
of  Titian,  with  minced-up  greenery  scattered  over  it ; 
such  as  3'ou  knew  it  in  1814  3'ou  will  find  it  in  1840. 
The  cutlets  and  the  beefsteaks  are  to  the  dinner-lists  of 
this  establishment  what  grouse  and  sturgeon  are  to 
those  of  Very,  —  extraordinar}"  dishes,  which  must  be 
ordered  in  the  morning.  The  female  of  the  genus  ox 
prevails  and  her  son  abounds  under  the  most  ingenuous 
aspects.  When  the  mackerel  and  the  whiting  bear 
down  upon  the  coasts  of  France  the}'  bound  thence  to 
Flicoteaux's.  There  the  vicissitudes  of  agriculture  are 
reflected  and  the  caprices  of  French  seasons.  You  can 
learn  things  there  about  the  phases  of  nature  which  the 
rich  and  idle  and  indiflferent  have  no  idea  of  A  student 
penned  in  the  Latin  quarter  acquires  at  Flicoteaux's 
the  most  accurate  knowledge  of  times  and  seasons ;  he 
knows  when  string-beans  and  peas  do  ripen,  when  cab- 
bage will  scent  the  hall,  what  species  of  salad  abounds, 
and  why  the  beetroot  fails.  An  old  calumny,  lasting 
even  to  the  time  when  Lucien  appeared  there,  attributed 
the  appearance  of  beefsteaks  to  a  period  of  mortality 
among  horses. 

Few  Parisian  restaurants  oflTer  a  really  finer  sight. 
Here  you  will  meet  with  youth  and  faith  gayly  enduring 
poverty,  though  grave  and  ardent,  earnest  and  anxious 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      61 

faces  are  not  lacking.  Clothes  are  generall}'  neglected. 
Customers  who  come  well-dressed  are  remarked  upon, 
for  everybody  knows  what  such  unwonted  apparel  sig- 
nifies, —  a  mistress  expected,  a  theatre  in  prospect,  or 
a  visit  to  the  upper  spheres.  Here,  it  is  said,  lasting 
friendships  have  been  formed  among  students  who, 
later  in  life  became  celebrated  men  ;  in  fact,  an  instance 
of  that  will  be  found  in  this  history'.  Nevertheless, 
excepting  the  young  men  of  the  same  country  neighbor- 
hood who  congregate  together  at  an  end  of  the  tables, 
the  diners  have,  as  a  general  thing,  a  gravity  which 
does  not  easily  unbend,  perhaps  because  of  the  catholi- 
cit}''  of  the  wine.  Those  who  have  cultivated  Flicoteaux 
for  any  length  of  time  can  remember  several  grave  and 
mysterious  personages  wrapped  in  a  fog  of  chilling 
povert}',  who  have  dined  there  for  two  or  more  years 
and  have  then  disappeared ;  no  light  on  the  lives  of 
such  Parisian  wraiths  being  ever  given  to  the  eyes  of 
their  inquisitive  co-diners.  The  friendships  started  at 
Flicoteaux's  were  clinched  in  the  adjoining  cafes  to  the 
fumes  of  a  spirituous  punch  or  the  glow  of  a  half-cup 
of  coffee  hallowed  by  a  gloria  of  some  sort. 

Durinoj  the  first  davs  of  his  installation  in  the  rue  de 
Clun}',  Lucien,  like  other  neophytes,  was  timid  and  reg- 
ular in  his  behavior.  After  his  disastrous  trial  of  fash- 
ionable life  which  had  swept  awaj'  his  capital,  he  threw 
himself  into  w^ork  with  that  30uthful  ardor  that  soon 
succumbs  to  the  difficulties  and  the  amusements  offered 
by  Paris  to  all  existences,  be  they  luxurious  or  poverty- 
stricken,  —  difficulties  and  temptations  which  can  be 
only  resisted  by  the  savage  force  of  real  talent  or  the 
dogged  will  of  ambition. 


62       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Lucien  usually  betook  himself  to  Flicoteaux's  about 
half-past  four  in  the  afternoon,  having  observed  the 
advantage  of  arriving  among  the  first ;  the  dishes  were 
then  more  varied,  and  there  was  still  enough  of  which- 
ever he  preferred.  Like  all  poetic  natures  he  liked  a 
particular  seat,  and  his  choice  in  this  instance  was  not 
without  discernment.  From  the  first  da}'  of  his  attend- 
ance at  Flicoteaux's  he  had  noticed,  near  the  comptoir^ 
a  table  at  which  the  faces  of  the  diners  and  the  scraps 
of  their  conversation  which  reached  his  ears  indicated 
literar}'  companionship.  Moreover,  a  sort  of  instinct 
told  him  that  by  sitting  near  the  coniptoir  he  would  be 
in  closer  relations  with  the  heads  of  the  restaurant. 
Accordingl}'  he  sat  down  at  a  little  square  table  near  b}', 
where  he  saw  two  covers  laid  with  clean  napkins  not  in 
metal  rings,  intended,  no  doubt,  for  transient  guests. 
Directl}'  opposite  to  him  sat  a  pale  and  thin  young  man, 
apparentl}^  as  poor  as  himself,  whose  fine,  worn  face  re- 
vealed that  hopes  relinquished  had  wearied  his  mind  and 
left  within  his  soul  deep  furrows  where  no  seed  now 
could  germinate.  Lucien  felt  himself  impelled  to  this 
unknown  man  b}'  these  vestiges  of  poes}-  lingering  about 
him  and  by  an  irresistible  impulse  of  sympathy. 

This  3'oung  man,  the  first  person  with  whom  the  poet 
of  Angouleme  conversed,  after  exchanging  civilities 
and  observations  for  about  a  week,  was  named  Etienne 
Lousteau.  Like  Lucien,  Etienne  had  left  his  provincial 
home,  a  town  in  Berr}',  about  two  A'ears  earlier.  His 
animated  gestures,  his  burning  glance,  his  curt,  succinct 
speech,  betra3'ed  at  times  some  bitter  knowledge  of 
literary  life.  Etienne  had  come  from  Sancerre  with  a 
traged}^  in  his  pocket,  drawn  to  Paris  by  the  same 


Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      63 

desires  which  enticed  Lucien,  —  fame,  power,  money. 
At  first  he  dined  daih'  at  Flicoteaux's,  soon  only  now 
and  then.  Lncien  missed  him.  When  youno;  men 
have  met  the  night  before,  the  interest  of  their  con- 
versation holds  over  into  that  of  the  next  day ;  bnt 
these  intervals  of  absence  obliged  Lncien  to  break  the 
ice  anew  each  time  the}-  met,  and  retarded  an  intimac}' 
which,  dnring  these  first  weeks,  had  made  but  little 
progress. 

B}'  questioning  the  dame  du  comiitoir  Lucien  learned 
that  his  acquaintance  was  on  the  staff  of  2^  petit  joitrnal^ 
and  wrote  the  dramatic  articles  on  pieces  acted  at  the 
Ambigu-Comique,  the  Gaite,  and  the  Panorama-Dra- 
matique.  This  was  enough  to  make  him  a  personage 
to  Lucien,  who  determined  to  begin  a  conversation  and 
make  some  efforts  to  obtain  a  friendship  which  might 
be  useful  to  his  own  career.  The  journalist  was  absent 
two  weeks.  Lucien  did  not  as  3'et  know  that  Etienne 
onl\'  dined  at  Flicoteaux's  when  he  had  no  mone}*, 
which  fact  gave  him  his  morose,  disillusioned  look,  and 
the  stiffness  which  Lucien  met  with  courteous  smiles  and 
pleasant  words.  Nevertheless,  such  an  intimac}'  re- 
quired deliberate  thought  before  it  was  entered  upon ; 
for  this  unknown  journalist  was  evidently  leading  a 
costly  life,  mingled  with  petit  verves,  cups  of  coffee, 
bowls  of  punch,  theatres,  and  suppers.  Now,  during 
his  first  weeks  in  the  Latin  quarter  Lucien's  behavior 
was  that  of  a  child  bewildered  by  his  first  experience 
of  Parisian  life.  After  studying  the  costs  of  living 
and  calculating  his  resources,  he  dared  not  follow  the 
ways  of  Etienne,  fearing  to  be  again  drawn  into  the 
blunders  he  now  so  deepl3'  regretted.     Still  under  the 


64       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

influence  of  his  provincial  faitlis,  his  guardian  angels, 
Eve  and  David,  rose  before  his  mind  at  ever3'  evil 
thought,  reminding  liim  of  the  hopes  the}'  had  placed 
upon  him,  of  the  happiness  of  his  mother,  for  which  he 
was  accountable,  and  of  all  the  promises  of  his  genius. 
He  continued  therefore  to  spend  his  mornings  in  the 
library  of  Sainte-Genevieve  stud^'ing  histor}' ;  where 
his  first  researches  showed  him  horrible  mistakes  in  his 
"  Archer  of  Charles  IX."  When  the  librar}'  closed  he 
returned  to  his  cold  damp  bedroom  to  correct  his  work, 
recast  it,  or  reject  whole  chapters.  After  dining  at 
Flicoteaux's  he  wall^ed  alono  the  Passage  du  Commerce 
to  Blosse's  "  Literary  Cabinet,"  where  he  spent  his 
evenings  reading  contemporary  literature,  newspapers, 
periodicals,  and  volumes  of  poetry,  to  keep  himself  in 
touch  with  the  intellectual  movement  of  the  da}',  and 
returned  to  his  wretched  room  at  midnight  having  saved 
the  cost  of  fuel  and  lights.  These  readings  changed 
his  ideas  so  completely  that  he  revised  the  collection 
of  his  sonnets  upon  flowers,  his  dear  "Daisies,"  and 
worked  over  them  until  scarcely  a  hundred  lines  remained 
the  same. 

At  first,  therefore,  Lucien  led  the  pure  and  innocent 
life  of  those  guileless  young  provincials  who  think  the 
food  provided  by  Flicoteaux  luxurious  living  compared 
with  that  of  their  famil}'  home,  who  refresh  themselves 
by  sauntering  slowly  along  the  alleys  of  the  Luxem- 
bourg, looking  obliquely  at  the  prett}'  women,  with 
swelling  hearts,  and  who  never  leave  the  student 
quarter,  where  they  devote  themselves  religiousl}'  to 
work  for  the  sake  of  their  future  career.  But  Lucien, 
born   a   poet,   soon   possessed   b}-  eager  desires,   was 


G-7'eat  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       65 

powerless  against  the  seductions  of  theatrical  posters. 
The  Theatre- Fraugais  the  Vaudeville,  the  Varietes,  the 
Opera-Comique,  where  he  sat  in  the  pit,  took  some  sixty 
francs  out  of  his  pocket.  What  poet  could  resist  the 
enjo3'ment  of  seeing  Talma  in  the  parts  which  he 
made  so  famous?  The  theatre,  that  first  love  of  all 
poetic  natures,  fascinated  Lucien  ;  the  actors  and  the 
actresses  seemed  to  him  imposing  personages.  He 
never  dreamed  of  the  possibility'  of  crossing  the  foot- 
lights and  seeing  them  familiarl}'.  These  givers  of  his 
delight  were  to  his  mind  wonderful  beings  whom  the 
journals  ought  to  treat  as  one  of  the  great  interests  of 
the  State.  To  be  a  dramatic  author,  to  see  his  plays 
acted,  —  oh,  what  a  dream  to  nurse  !  That  dream  a  few 
bold  spirits,  like  Casimir  Delavigne,  had  realized ! 

Such  teeming  thoughts,  such  moments  as  these  of 
belief  in  himself,  followed  b}'  despair,  agitated  Lucien's 
being  and  kept  him  in  the  path  of  toil  and  econom}', 
notwithstanding  the  low  mutterings  of  more  than  one 
importunate  desire.  Through  excess  of  virtue  he  for- 
bade himself  to  ever  enter  the  Palais-Royal,  that  place 
of  perdition,  where  in  a  single  day  he  had  spent  fift}' 
francs  at  Verj^'s  and  nearly'  five  hundred  francs  in 
clothes.  When  he  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  seeing 
Fleury,  Talma,  the  two  Baptistes,  or  Michot,  he  stood 
for  five  hours  in  the  queue  to  obtain  a  seat  in  the  dark 
gallerj'.  Often  on  such  occasions,  after  waiting  two 
hours,  the  words  "  There  are  no  seats  left "  would 
echo  in  the  ears  of  man}'  a  disappointed  student.  After 
the  play  Lucien  returned  home  with  lowered  eyes,  look- 
ing at  nothing  in  the  streets,  crowded  at  that  hour  with 
seduction.      A  few  adventures   of  extreme   simplicity 

5 


66       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

may  have  happened  to  him,  such  as  take  a  vast  place 
in  timid  and  youthful  imaginations. 

Frightened  one  day  when  counting  his  mone}'  at  the 
rapid  diminution  of  his  capital,  Lucien  felt  cold  chills 
run  down  him  as  the  necessity  of  obtaining  a  publisher 
and  doing  some  work  for  pay  came  over  him.  The 
3'oung  journalist  of  whom  he  would  fain  have  made  a 
friend  no  longer  dined  at  Flicoteaux's.  Lucien  waited 
and  hoped  that  something  would  turn  up,  but  nothing 
came.  In  Paris,  lucky  accidents  happen  onl}'  to  those 
who  are  much  in  the  world  ;  the  variety  of  a  man's  in- 
tercourse with  life  increases  his  chances  of  success  ;  luck 
is  alwa3's  on  the  side  of  numbers.  Like  a  true  provin- 
cial, in  whom  the  sense  of  prudence  long  remains,  Lucien 
did  not  wish  to  reach  a  period  when  a  few  francs  only 
would  remain  to  him.     He  resolved  to  face  a  publisher. 

On  a  cold  morning  in  the  month  of  September  he 
walked  along  the  rue  de  la  Harpe  with  his  manu- 
scripts under  his  arm.  He  went  as  far  as  the  quai 
des  Augustins,  following  the  sidewalk  and  looking 
alternatel}'  at  the  waters  of  the  Seine  and  the  shops 
of  the  publishers,  as  if  some  guardian  angel  were  ad- 
vising him  to  throw  himself  into  the  river  rather  than 
into  literature.  After  agonizing  hesitation,  after  ex- 
amining with  the  deepest  attention  the  faces  he  could 
see  through  the  windows  or  the  doors,  faces  more  or 
less  kindl}',  cheerful,  scowling,  J03'0us,  or  sad,  he  came 
upon  a  house  before  which  the  clerks  were  packing 
books  in  haste.  Shipments  were  evidentl}-  being  made  ; 
the  walls  were  covered  with  advertisements :  — 

"For  sale:  The  Solitary,  by  M.  le  Vicomte 
d'Arlincourt,    third  edition.     Leonide,  by  Victor  Du- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      67 

cange,  5  vols.  12mo,  printed  on  fine  paper,  price  12frs. 
Moral  Inductions,  b}-  Keratry." 

"  They  are  lucky,  those  fellows !  "  thought  Lucien. 

The  advertisement,  or  rather  the  poster,  a  new  and 
original  invention  of  the  famous  Ladvocat,  was  then 
flourishing  for  the  first  time  on  the  walls  of  Paris.  The 
cit}'  was  soon  overrun  by  the  imitators  of  this  novel 
method  of  advertising,  which  brought  in  quite  a  reve- 
nue to  the  State.  Lucien,  his  heart  swelling  with  ardor 
and  disquietude,  Lucien,  so  great  in  Angouleme,  so  lit- 
tle in  Paris,  slid  along  the  walls  of  the  houses  trying  to 
summon  courage  to  enter  that  shop,  full  of  clerks,  cus- 
tomers, and  publishers. 

"And  perhaps  authors,"  thought  Lucien. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  Monsieur  Vidal  or  to  Monsieur 
Porchon,"  he  said  to  a  clerk. 

He  had  read  the  sign  in  large  letters  :  "  Vidal  and 
PoRCHON ;  publishing-commissioners  for  France  and 
foreign  countries." 

"•  They  are  both  engaged,"  said  the  busy  clerk. 

"  I  will  wait." 

The  poet  was  left  to  himself  in  the  shop,  where  he 
examined  the  packages.  He  sta3'ed  there  two  hours 
looking  at  the  titles  of  books,  opening  the  volumes  and 
reading  a  page  of  them  here  or  there.  At  last,  he  found 
himself  leaning  against  a  glass  partition  covered  with 
small  green  curtains,  behind  which  he  now  suspected 
that  either  Porchon  or  Vidal  was  ensconced,  for  he 
overheard  the  following  conversation  :  — 

"  Will  3'ou  take  five  hundred  copies?  If  so,  I  '11  let 
you  have  them  at  five  francs  and  give  you  a  double  com- 


mission." 


68       Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  What  price  does  that  make  them?  " 

"  Sixteen  sous  less." 

''  Four  francs,  four  sous?  "  said  Vidal  or  Porchon,  to 
whoever  was.  making  the  offer. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  seller. 

"  With  time  allowance  ?  " 

^'  Old  screw  !  then  you  '11  pay  me  in  eighteen  months 
with  notes  at  a  3'ear's  sight?  " 

"  No,  paid  at  once,"  replied  Vidal  or  Porchon. 

"What  time,  nine  months  ?  "  asked  the  writer,  or,  more 
probably,  his  publisher,  who  was  doubtless  offering  a  book. 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow^,  one  year,"  replied  the  buyer. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment. 

"  You  are  squeezing  the  blood  out  of  me !  "  cried  the 
seller.  * 

'•  But  do  you  suppose  we  shall  sell  five  hundred  copies 
of  '  Leonide  '  in  a  year?"  replied  the  publishing-com- 
missioner to  the  agent  of  Victor  Ducange.  "  If  books 
went  off  as  publishers  wish,  we  should  be  millionnaires, 
my  dear  friend  ;  but  they  go  as  the  pubhc  choose. 
Walter  Scott's  novels  are  selling  at  eighteen  sous  a 
volume,  three  francs  twelve  sous  the  set,  and  you 
expect  me  to  sell  your  trash  higher !  If  you  want  me 
to  push  the  book,  make  it  worth  my  while.     Vidal !  " 

A  stout  man  left  a  desk  and  came  forward,  putting 
his  pen  behind  his  ear. 

"  On  your  last  journey  how  man}'  Ducange  books  did 
you  get  off  ?"  asked  Porchon. 

"I  sold  two  hundred  of  the  'Little  Old  Man  of 
Calais  ; '  but  in  order  to  do  that  I  had  to  come  down 
on  two  other  books  which  give  less  commission,  — 
regular  nightingales." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      69 

Later,  Lucien  learned  that  the  nickname  "  nightin- 
gale "  is  applied  bj  publishers  to  books  which  stay 
perched  upon  their  shelves  in  the  darkest  depths  of 
the  warehouses. 

"  Besides,  you  know,"  continued  Vidal,  "  Picard  is 
preparing  to  sell  novels.  We  are  promised  twent}'  per 
cent  discount  on  the  trade  price  in  order  to  make  him 
a  success." 

"  Ver}'  good,  then  ;  at  one  year,"  said  the  seller, 
dolefull}',  frightened  b}'  the  last  remark  made,  as  it 
were  confidentiall}-,  between  Vidal  and  Porchon. 

' '  Is  that  settled  ?  "  asked  Porchon. 

"  Yes." 

The  selling  publisher  left  the  place.  Lucien  heard 
Porchon  remark  to  Vidal,  "We  have  three  hundred 
copies  alread}'  engaged  ;  pa3'ment  is  dela3'ed  a  year ; 
we  can  sell  the  whole  batch  of  the  '  Le'onide '  at  five 
francs,  pa3'ment  in  six  months  and  —  " 

' '  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Vidal ;  ' '  that  is  fifteen  hundred 
francs  clear." 

"  Oh  !  I  knew  he  was  pressed." 

"  He  is  losing  money ;  he  pays  Ducange  four  thou- 
sand francs  for  two  thousand  copies." 

Here  Lucien  stopped  Vidal  short  b3'  showing  himself 
at  the  door  of  the  glass  cage. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the  partners,  "  I  have  the 
honor  to  wish  3^ou  good-morning." 

The  publishers  scarceh'  returned  his  salutation. 

"  I  am  the  author  of  a  novel  on  the  historv  of  France, 
in  the  style  of  Walter  Scott ;  it  is  called  '  The  Archer  of 
Charles  IX. ; '  and  I  propose  to  3'ou  to  publish  it." 

Porchon  cast  a  frigid  look  at  Lucien,  and  laid  his  pen 


70       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

on  his  desk.  Vidal  looked  at  the  author  rudely,  and 
replied :  — 

"  We  are  not  publishers  ;  we  sell  books  on  commis- 
sion. We  never  undertake  books  on  our  own  account, 
unless  the  writers  have  made  a  name.  Besides,  in 
any  case,  we  deal  onlj^  in  serious  books,  histories,  com- 
pendiums." 

"  But  my  book  is  serious  ;  its  object  is  to  depict  in  a 
true  light  the  struggle  of  the  Catholics  who  stood  for 
absolute  government  against  the  Protestants  who  wanted 
a  republic." 

''  Monsieur  Vidal !  "  called  a  clerk. 

Vidal  shpped  out. 

"  I  don't  say,  monsieur,  that  3'our  book  ma}^  not  be  a 
masterpiece,"  said  Porchon,  with  an  uncivil  gesture, 
"  but  we  only  concern  ourselves  with  books  alread}' 
printed.  Go  and  see  those  firms  which  buy  manu- 
scripts ;  there  's  Pere  Doguereau,  rue  du  Coq,  near  the 
Louvre  ;  he  bu3'S  novels.  If  you  had  come  sooner  you 
might  have  seen  PoUet,  Doguereau's  rival,  one  of  the 
publishers  in  the  Galeries  de  Bois  ;  he  has  just  gone 
out." 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  a  collection  of  poems  —  " 

"  Monsieur  Porchon  !  "  called  some  one. 

"  Poems  !  "  cried  Porchon,  angrily  ;  "  whom  do  3'ou 
take  me  for?"  he  added  with  a  sneer,  disappearing 
into  a  wareroom  behind  him. 

Lucien  crossed  the  Pont-Neuf  a  pre^^  to  man}'  reflec- 
tions. The  facts  he  had  discovered  from  this  commer- 
cial lingo  showed  him  plainly  enough  that  to  such 
publishers  books  were  like  hats  to  hatters,  —  goods  to 
buy  cheap  and  sell  dear. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      71 

"  I  made  a  mistake  in  going  there/'  thought  he  ;  but 
he  was,  all  the  same,  shocked  at  the  brutal  and  mate- 
rial aspect  under  which  literature  had  been  shown  to 
him.  He  presently  came  to  a  modest  little  shop  in  the 
rue  du  Coq,  over  the  door  of  which  was  painted,  in  yellow 
letters  on  a  green  ground,  the  words  :  "Doguereau,  Pub- 
lisher." Lucien  remembered  having  seen  that  name  at 
the  bottom  of  the  titlepages  of  various  novels  he  had 
opened  in  Blosse's  reading-room.  He  entered,  not 
without  that  inward  trepidation  which  all  men  of  imag- 
ination feel  at  the  prospect  of  a  struggle.  He  found 
a  singular  old  man  within,  —  one  of  the  most  original 
figures  of  the  book-trade  under  the  Empire. 

Doguereau  wore  a  black  coat  with  long  square  skirts, 
though  the  fashion  of  the  da}^  required  what  were  called 
"  cod-fish  tails."  He  had  a  waistcoat  of  some  common 
woollen  material  in  squares  of  divers  colors,  from  the 
pocket  of  which  depended  a  steel  chain  and  a  brass  ke}', 
which  jingled  against  a  pair  of  huge  black  breeches. 
The  watch  must  have  been  about  the  size  of  an  onion. 
This  attire  was  completed  by  a  pair  of  thick  woollen 
stockings,  iron-gray  in  color,  and  shoes  with  silver 
buckles.  The  old  man  was  bareheaded,  and  his  gray 
hair  hung  down  rather  poetically'  in  straggling  locks. 
Pere  Doguereau,  as  Porchon  had  called  him,  resembled 
a  professor  of  belles-lettres  as  to  coat,  breeches,  and 
shoes,  but  his  waistcoat,  watch,  and  stockings  were 
those  of  a  shopkeeper.  His  countenance  did  not  con- 
tradict this  curious  combination  ;  he  had  the  magiste- 
rial, dogmatic  air  and  the  worn  face  of  a  professor  of 
rhetoric,  and  the  keen  e3'es,  the  suspicious  mouth,  the 
vague  uneasiness  of  a  bookseller. 


72       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

"  Monsieur  Doguereau?"  said  Liicien. 

"  M3'self,  monsieur." 

"  I  am  the  author  of  a  novel/'  continued  Lucien. 

"  You  are  very  young,"  said  the  publisher. 

"But,  monsieur,  my  age  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
matter." 

"  True,"  said  the  old  publisher,  taking  the  manuscript. 
"  Ah,  the  deuce  !  '  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX./  —  that 's 
a  good  title.  Well,  3'oung  man,  tell  me  your  subject  in 
two  words." 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  an  historical  work  in  the  style  of 
Walter  Scott,  in  which  the  nature  of  the  struggle  be- 
tween the  Catholics  and  the  Protestants  is  shown  to  be 
a  contest  between  two  systems  of  government ;  a  con- 
test which  seriousl}'  threatened  the  throne  itself  I  take 
the  Catholic  side." 

"Hey  !  3'oung  man  ;  wh}',  those  are  reall}'  ideas  !  Well, 
I  '11  read  3'our  book ;  I  '11  promise  3'ou  that.  I  would 
rather  have  a  novel  in  the  style  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe  ;  but 
if  3"ou  are  reall3'  a  worker,  if  3'ou  have  style,  construc- 
tion, ideas,  and  the  art  of  dramatically  presenting  your 
subject,  I  am  not  unwilUng  to  be  of  use  to  you.  What 
we  want  now  are  reall3^  good  manuscripts." 

"  When  mav  I  call  asjain?" 

"  I  am  going  into  the  country  this  evening,  and  shall 
return  the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  by  that  time  I  shall 
have  read  your  work,  and  if  it  suits  me,  we  can  arrange 
matters  that  day." 

Lucien,  finding  his  new  acquaintance  so  cordial,  had 
the  unluck3'  idea  of  pulling  out  the  manuscript  of  "  The 
Daisies." 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  also  a  collection  of  poems." 


Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,       73 

''  Ah  !  you  are  a  poet,  are  you?  Tlien  I  don't  want 
your  novel,"  said  the  old  man,  holding  out  the  manu- 
script. "  Rh3'mesters  always  fail  when  they  try  prose. 
Prose  can't  be  mere  stuff;  it  must  have  something  to 
sa}',  and  it  says  it." 

"  But,  monsieur,  Walter  Scott  wrote  poems." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Doguereau,  relenting  somewhat ; 
he  guessed  the  povert}'  of  the  young  man,  and  kept  the 
manuscript.  "  Where  do  you  live?  I  '11  go  and  see 
you." 

Lucien  gave  his  address  without  suspecting  the  old 
man  of  any  ulterior  meaning ;  he  did  not  perceive  him 
to  be  a  publisher  of  the  old  school,  of  the  days  when 
publishers  liked  to  keep  such  men  as  Voltaire  and 
Montesquieu  under  lock  and  key  in  a  garret,  dying  of 
hunger. 

"  I  return  by  way  of  the  Latin  quarter,"  said  the  old 
man,  after  reading  the  address  ;   "  I  will  call." 

"  He's  a  worthy  man,"  thought  Lucien,  after  leaving 
old  Doguereau.  "  I  have  met  a  friend  to  youth, — a 
connoisseur  who  reall}'  knows  something.  Commend 
me  to  that  sort  of  sponsor.  I  told  David  that  talent 
would  easilj^  make  its  way  in  Paris." 

Lucien  went  back  to  his  quarters,  light-hearted  and 
dreaming  of  fame.  Without  thinking  further  of  the 
sinister  words  which  had  reached  his  ears  in  the  office 
of  Vidal  and  Porchon,  he  imagined  himself  in  posses- 
sion of  at  least  twelve  hundred  francs.  Twelve  hundred 
francs  represented  one  year's  sojourn  in  Paris,  —  one 
3'ear,  during  which  he  could  prepare  new  works.  How 
man}'  projects  were  built  upon  this  hope  !  How  many 
brilliant   reveries   he   indulged   as    he   saw   his   living 


74       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

secured  and  himself  free  to  labor.  He  planned  a  new 
abode,  arranged  his  mode  of  life,  a  little  more  and  he 
would  even  have  made  purchases  for  it.  He  whiled 
away  the  time  and  his  impatience  in  Blosse's  reading- 
room.  Two  daj's  later  old  Doguereau,  greatly-  sur- 
prised at  the  st3'le  Lucien  had  displayed  in  a  first 
work,  pleased  with  the  exaggeration  of  the  characters 
which  the  period  of  the  drama  permitted,  struck  with 
the  ardor  of  imagination  with  which  the  3'oung  author 
had  developed  his  plot  (the  old  man  had  not  lost  his 
power  of  appreciation),  —  old  Doguereau,  we  sa}',  came 
to  the  house  where  his  embryo  Walter  Scott  was  living. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  pay  a  thousand  francs 
down  for  the  absolute  possession  of  "  The  Archer  of 
Charles  IX."  and  to  bind  Lucien  in  writing  to  supply 
him  with  other  works.  But  when  the  old  fox  saw  the 
house  he  reconsidered  his  intentions. 

"  A  3'oung  man  who  lives  in  such  a  place  as  this," 
thought  he,  "has  humble  tastes;  he  loves  stud}"  and 
work ;  eight  hundred  francs  will  be  enough  to  give 
him." 

The  landlad}',  of  whom  he  asked  his  wa}"  to  Monsieur 
Lucien  de  Rubempre's  apartment,  replied,  "  Fourth 
floor  !  "  The  publisher  looked  up,  saw  that  the  sk}'  was 
above  that  floor,  and  thought  to  himself;  — 

"  This  .young  man  is  a  good-looking  fellow  ;  he  is  in 
fact  a  ver}'  handsome  man  ;  if  he  earns  much  mone}'  he 
will  waste  it,  he  won't  work  any  longer.  In  our  mutual 
interests  I  shall  offer  him  six  hundred  francs,  —  in  read^y 
monev,  not  bills." 

So  thinking,  he  went  upstairs  and  rapped  three 
knocks  on  Lucien's  door,  which  the  3'oung  man  opened. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      75 

The  bareness  of  the  room  was  depressuig.  On  the 
table  was  a  bowl  of  milk  and  a  two-sous  roll.  This 
penury  of  genius  struck  old  Doguereau. 

"  Ma}'  he  long  keep  to  these  simple  habits,  this  fru- 
gality, these  modest  wants,"  thought  he  ;  then  he  said 
aloud  :  "I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  This  is  how  Jean- 
Jacques,  with  whom  3-ou  have  much  in  common,  lived. 
In  such  lodgings  as  these  the  fire  of  genius  burns  and 
does  great  works.  This  is  how  men  of  letters  ought  to 
live,  instead  of  junketing  in  cafes  and  restaurants,  los- 
ing their  time,  their  talent,  and  our  money."  So  saying, 
he  sat  down.  "  Young  man,"  he  went  on,  "  your  novel 
is  not  bad.  I  was  once  a  professor  of  rhetoric,  and  I 
know  French  history  ;  there  are  excellent  things  in  the 
book  ;  in  short,  3'ou  have  a  future  before  3'ou." 

"Ah!   monsieur." 

"Well,  as  I  told  3'ou,  we  can  do  business  together. 
I  will  buy  3'our  novel." 

Lucien's  heart  glowed,  he  palpitated  with  joy,  he  was 
about  to  enter  the  literar}^  world,  at  last  he  would  see 
himself  in  print. 

"  I  will  pay  3'OU  four  hundred  francs,  said  Doguereau, 
in  a  honied  tone  and  looking  at  Lucien  in  a  way  that 
seemed  to  indicate  an  effort  at  generosity. 

"  A  volume?  "  said  Lucien. 

"  The  whole  book,"  replied  Doguereau,  not  heeding 
Lucien's  astonishment.  "  But,"  he  added,  ''it will  be  in 
read}^  money.  You  must  bind  yourself  to  give  me  two 
such  books  every  year  for  six  j^ears.  If  the  first  is  sold 
off  within  six  months  I  will  engage  to  pay  3'ou  six  hun- 
dred for  the  succeeding  books.  At  the  rate  of  two  a 
3'ear  you  will  earn  a  hundred  francs  a  month  ;  that  will 


76       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

secure  3"our  livelihood  and  3^011  will  be  happy.  I  have 
authors  to  whom  I  pa_y  onl^'  three  hundred  francs  a 
novel.  I  give  two  hundred  francs  for  a  translation 
from  the  English.  Formerly,  such  prices  would  have 
been  exorbitant." 

"Monsieur,  w^e  cannot  come  to  any  agreement  on 
such  terms,  and  I  request  3'ou  to  return  m\'  manuscript," 
said  Lucien,  cruell3'  disappointed. 

''There  it  is,"  said  the  old  man.  "You  don't  under- 
stand business,  monsieur.  In  bringing  out  an  author's 
first  work  a  publisher  risks  sixteen  hundred  francs  on 
the  printing  and  the  paper.  It  is  easier  to  make  a 
novel  than  it  is  to  produce  that  sum  of  mone3'.  I  have 
a  hundred  novels  now  on  m3'  hands  but  I  have  n't  a 
hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs  in  my  cashbox. 
Alas,  I  have  n't  made  that  sum  during  all  the  twent3" 
3"ears  I  have  been  a  publisher.  No  man  can  make  a 
fortune  b3"  bringing  out  novels.  Vidal  and  Porchon  will 
onl3^  sell  them  for  us  on  terms  which  are  becoming  day 
after  da3^  more  extortionate.  Where  you  risk  your  time 
I  am  forced  to  spend  two  thousand  francs.  If  I  make  a 
mistake,  for  luibent  sua  fata  libelli,  I  lose  my  two  thou- 
sand francs  ;  while  as  for  3'ou,  vou  have  only  to  launch 
an  ode  against  public  stupidity.  After  thinking  over 
what  I  have  had  the  honor  to  sa3^  to  3'ou,  you  will 
come  and  see  me, — 3'es,  you  will  come  back  to  me," 
repeated  the  publisher,  authoritatively,  in  repl3^  to  a 
gesture  of  superb  disdain  from  Lucien.  "Far  from 
finding  other  publishers  willing  to  risk  two  thousand 
francs  on  an  unknown  author,  3'ou  will  not  find  even  a 
clerk  who  would  give  himself  the  trouble  to  read  your 
manuscript.     I,  who   have    read    it,    can    show   3"0U   a 


Great  Mayi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      11 

good  man}'  faults  of  grammar  in  it."  Lucien  looked 
mortified.  "  When  I  see  you  again  3'ou  will  have  lost  a 
hundred  francs,"  added  the  old  man  ;  "for  I  shall  then 
give  you  onl}^  three  hundred  for  that  novel."  He  rose, 
bowed,  and  turned  to  go ;  but  on  the  sill  of  the  door 
he  stopped  and  said  :  "  If  you  had  no  talent,  no  future 
before  3'ou,  if  I  did  not  take  an  interest  in  studious 
young  men,  I  should  never  have  proposed  to  you  such 
liberal  terms.  A  hundred  francs  a  month  !  think  of  it ! 
However,  a  novel  in  a  drawer  is  not  a  horse  in  a  stable  ; 
it  won't  eat  oats  —  but  then,  it  does  n't  provide  any  !  " 

Lucien  took  his  manuscript  and  flung  it  on  the  floor 
crying  out,  "  1  'd  rather  burn  it !  " 

"  You  have  the  head  of  a  poet,"  said  the  old  man. 

Lucien  devoured  his  bread  and  gulped  down  his  milk 
and  went  out.  The  room  was  not  big  enough  to  con- 
tain him  ;  he  would  have  turned  and  doubled  upon  him- 
self like  the  lion  in  his  cage  at  the  .Jardin  des  Plantes. 


78       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 


THE    FIRST    FRIEND. 

At  the  libraiy  of  Sainte-Genevi^ve,  to  which  Lucien 
now  made  his  wa}',  he  had  long  noticed,  and  alwaj's  in 
the  same  corner,  a  young  man  about  twent^'-five  years 
of  age,  who  seemed  to  work  with  a  stead}'  application 
which  nothing  disturbed,  —  the  test  of  true  literary 
toilers.  This  young  man  had  evidentl}'  been  in  the 
habit  of  coming  to  the  library  for  some  time  ;  the  clerks 
and  the  librarian  himself  showed  him  attentions ;  he 
was  allowed  to  take  out  books  which,  as  Lucien  noticed, 
he  brought  back  punctualh^  the  next  da}'.  The  poet 
recognized  in  this  unknown  student  a  brother  in  penur}^ 
and  hope. 

Small,  thin,  and  pale,  this  toiler  hid  a  noble  brow 
beneath  a  thick  black  mane  of  hair,  somewhat  ill-kept ; 
his  hands  were  beautiful ;  he  attracted  the  eye  of  even 
non-observing  persons  b}'  a  vague  resemblance  to  the 
portrait  of  Bonaparte  engraved  after  Robert  Lefebvre. 
That  engraving  is  a  poem  of  passionate  melanchol}', 
repressed  ambition,  subdued  activit}'.  Examine  it  well. 
You  will  find  there  genius  and  discretion,  shrewdness 
and  grandeur.  The  e3'es  have  a  soul  like  the  e3'es  of  a 
woman.  Their  glance  is  eager  into  space,  desirous  of 
difficulties  to  vanquish.     Were  the  name  "  Bonaparte'' 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      79 

not  written  beneath  it  3'oa  still  would  pause  to  gaze 
upon  that  portrait  and  contemplate  it.  The  3'oung  man 
who  seemed  to  embod}'  this  engraving  usually  wore 
trousers  a  pied  in  thick-soled  shoes  ;  a  frock-coat  of 
common  cloth,  a  black  cravat,  a  waistcoat  of  gra}'  and 
white  cloth,  buttoned  to  the  neck,  and  a  cheap  hat.  His 
contempt  for  all  unnecessary  care  in  dress  was  obvious. 
This  noticeable  person,  marked  with  the  seal  which 
genius  stamps  upon  the  forehead  of  her  slaves,  Lucien 
had  seen  at  Flicoteaux's.  He  was,  in  fact,  the  most 
regular  of  the  customers  ;  he  ate  to  live,  paying  no 
attention  to  the  food,  with  which  he  seemed  familiar  ;  he 
drank  water  onlv.  AYhether  in  the  library  or  at 
Flicoteaux's,  he  manifested  in  all  things  a  sort  of  dig- 
nity which  came  no  doubt  from  the  consciousness  that 
his  life  was  occupied  with  great  things ;  this  made 
him,  in  some  degree,  inapproachable.  His  glance  was 
thouo-htful.  Meditation  inhabited  that  noble  brow, 
which  was  fineh'  cut.  Lucien  felt  an  involuntar}' 
respect  for  him.  Several  times  they  had  mutually 
glanced  at  each  other  as  if  to  speak,  when  entering  or 
leaving  the  librar}'  or  the  restaurant,  and  then  refrained 
as  if  neither  dared  to  take  the  step.  This  silent  guest 
always  took  his  place  in  a  retired  corner  of  the  dining- 
room  looking  on  the  place  de  la  Sorbonne.  Lucien  had, 
therefore,  no  opportunity  of  joining  him,  though  he  felt 
strongly  drawn  to  the  young  worker  who  showed  so 
many  unspoken  signs  of  superiorit}'.  The  natures  of 
both,  as  the}"  knew  later,  were  timid  and  virgin,  and 
subject  to  those  fears  which  are  pleasurable  emotions  to 
solitary  minds.  Without  a  sudden  meeting  between 
them  at  the  moment  of  Lucien's  present  disaster  per- 


80       Great  Man  of  tlu   Provinces  in  Paris. 

haps  the}'  would  never  have  come  into  personal  com- 
munication. But  now,  as  Lucien  entered  the  rue 
des  Gres,  he  saw  the  unknown  worker  returning  from 
Sainte-Genevieve,  at  an  unusual  hour. 

"  The  library  is  closed,  I  do  not  know  why,  monsieur," 
he  said. 

Tears  were  in  Lucien's  eyes  at  the  moment.  He 
thanked  the  student  with  a  gesture  more  eloquent  than 
words,  —  one  of  those  gestures  which,  from  3'outh  to 
youth,  open  instantly  all  hearts.  They  walked  on  side 
b}'  side  along  the  rue  des  Gres  towards  the  rue  de  la 
Harpe. 

''  Then  I  shall  go  and  walk  in  the  Luxembourg," 
said  Lucien.  "  When  we  have  once  come  out  it  is  hard 
to  turn  back  to  work." 

"  Yes,  we  are  no  longer  in  the  current  of  our  ideas," 
said  the  other.     "  You  seem  distressed,  monsieur." 

"A  strange  thing  has  just  happened  to  me,"  said 
Lucien. 

He  related  his  visit  to  Vidal  and  Porchon  and  that  to 
the  old  publisher,  and  told  of  the  proposals  the  latter 
had  made  to  him  ;  he  gave  his  name  and  added  a  few 
words  as  to  his  situation.  For  the  last  month  he  had 
spent  sixty  francs  on  food,  thirty  francs  for  lodging, 
twenty  at  the  theatre,  ten  for  the  reading-room,  —  in  all 
a  hundred  and  twenty  francs  ;  and  only  a  hundred  and 
twent}'  now  remained  to  him. 

"Monsieur."  said  his  companion,  "your  history  is 
mine  and  that  of  the  thousand  or  twelve  hundred  other 
3'oung  men  who  annualh'  come  to  Paris  from  the 
provinces.  But  we  are  not  among  the  most  unfortunate. 
Do  you  see  that  theatre?"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  roofs 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      81 

of  the  Odeon.  "  One  da}^  a  man  of  talent  came  to  live  in 
the  garret  of  one  of  those  houses  near  the  theatre.  He 
was  sunk  in  the  depths  of  poverty ;  he  was  married,  — 
an  asro-ravation  of  miserv  which  has  not  vet  come  to 
you  or  me,  —  married  to  a  woman  he  loved  ;  addition- 
all}^  poor  (or  rich  if  you  choose)  in  possessing  two  chil- 
dren ;  overwhelmed  with  debt,  but  confident  in  his  pen. 
He  offered  the  Odeon  a  comed}'  in  five  acts.  It  was 
accepted ;  the  comedians  favored  it ;  the  manager 
pressed  on  the  rehearsals.  The  poor  author,  living  in 
a  garret  wliich  vou  can  see  from  here,  exhausted  his  last 
resources  in  living  through  the  period  required  to  bring 
out  his  play  ;  his  wife  took  her  clothes  to  the  pawn- 
shop ;  the  famil}'  ate  nothing  but  bread.  The  day  of 
the  last  rehearsal,  the  evening  before  the  first  represen- 
tation, that  starving  household  owed  fifty  francs  to  the 
baker,  the  milkman,  the  porter.  The  author  had  kept 
his  necessar}'  clothes  from  the  pawn-shop,  a  coat,  shirt, 
trousers,  waistcoat  and  boots.  Certain  of  success,  he 
clasped  his  wife  to  his  breast,  telling  her  they  had  seen 
the  last  of  their  troubles.  '  There  is  nothing  now 
against  us,'  he  cried.  '  There  is  fire,'  said  his  wife. 
'Look,  the  theatre  is  burning  ! '  Monsieur,  the  Ode'on 
•^as  burned.  Do  not  complain,  therefore ;  3'ou  have 
neither  wife  nor  children ;  you  have  a  hundred  and 
twenty  francs  in  your  pocket,  and  3'ou  owe  no  man  any- 
thing. That  play  had  a  run  of  a  hundred  and  twenty 
nights  at  the  Theatre  Louvois.  The  king  gave  a  pen- 
sion to  its  author.  As  Buffon  said.  Genius  is  Patience. 
Patience  is  that  which  most  resembles,  in  man,  the 
process  which  Nature  employs  in  her  creations.     What 

is  Art,  monsieur?     It  is  Nature  concentrated." 

6 


82       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

The  two  young  men  were  walking  about  the  Luxem- 
bourg. Lucien  soon  learned  the  name,  afterwards 
famous,  of  the  man  who  was  trying  to  console  him. 
He  was  Daniel  d'Arthez,  now  among  the  most  illus- 
trious writers  of  our  da}^,  and  one  of  those  rare  beings 
wlio,  in  the  beautiful  words  of  the  poet,  present  ^'  the 
harmony  of  a  noble  talent  with  a  noble  soul." 

"  No  one  can  be  a  great  man  cheaply,"  said 
d'Arthez  in  his  gentle  voice.  "  Genius  waters  her 
work  with  tears.  Talent  is  a  moral  being  which,  like 
all  other  beings,  is  subject  to  the  maladies  of  childhood. 
Society  rejects  undeveloped  talent  just  as  nature  re- 
moves her  feeble  or  deformed  creations.  Whoever 
wishes  to  rise  above  his  fellows  must  be  prepared  to 
struggle,  and  not  recoil  at  difficult}'.  A  great  writer  is 
a  mart3'r  who  does  not  die,  —  that 's  the  whole  of  it ! 
You  have  upon  your  brow  the  stamp  of  genius,"  con- 
tinued d'Arthez,  casting  a  look  upon  his  companion 
which  seemed  to  envelop  him,  "but,  if  you  have  not 
will  within  j-our  soul,  if  3'ou  have  not  angelic  patience, 
if —  at  whatever  distance  from  attainment  the  caprices 
of  your  fate  may  fling  you  —  you  cannot,  like  the  tor- 
toise, return  along  the  path  towards  your  Infinite  as  the 
tortoise  returns  to  its  Ocean,  then  renounce,  renounce 
to-day  this  career." 

"Are  you,  yourself,  expecting  tortures?"  said 
Lucien. 

"  Yes,  trials  of  all  sorts,  —  calumny,  betrayal,  injus- 
tice of  rivals,  the  trickery,  harshness,  insolence  of 
publishers.  If  your  work  is  a  fine  one,  what  matters 
a  first  loss?  " 

Will  you  read  and  judge  my  work?"  said  Lucien. 


(.i 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      83 

"  Yes,"  replied  d'Arthez.  "I  live  in  the  rue  des 
Qnatre-Vents,  in  a  house  where  one  of  the  most  illus- 
trious men  and  one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  of  our  time, 
a  phenomenon  of  science,  Desplein,  the  great  surgeon, 
endured  his  martyrdom  in  strugghng  with  the  first 
difficulties  of  life  and  fame  in  Paris.  The  thought  of 
Desplein  gives  me  every  night  the  dose  of  courage 
which  I  need  every  morning.  I  live  in  the  very  room 
where  he  ate,  like  Rousseau,  bread  and  cherries,  —  but 
without  Therese.  Come  there  in  an  hour  and  I  shall 
be  at  home." 

The  two  poets  parted,  pressing  each  others  hand 
with  an  unspeakable  effusion  of  melancholy  tenderness. 
Lucien  went  to  fetch  his  manuscript,  Daniel  d'Arthez 
to  pawn  his  watch  and  bu}-  two  bundles  of  wood  that 
his  new  friend  might  find  a  fire  in  his  cold  room.  Lucien 
was  punctual ;  he  found  a  house  even  less  decent  than 
the  one  he  lived  in,  entered  through  a  dark  alle}^,  at  the 
end  of  which  was  the  staircase.  D'Arthez'  room,  on 
the  fifth  flour,  had  two  wretched  windows,  between 
which  stood  a  bookcase  in  blackened  wood,  full  of 
ticketed  paper  boxes.  A  poor  bedstead  of  painted 
wood,  like  those  of  schoolboys,  a  bedside  table,  and 
two  armchairs  covered  with  horsehair  stood  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  the  walls  of  which  were  cov- 
ered with  checked  paper  stained  by  time  and  smoke. 
A  long  table  piled  with  papers  was  placed  between  the 
fireplace  and  one  of  the  windows.  Opposite  the  fire- 
place was  a  miserable  mahogany  bureau.  A  shabby 
carpet  covered  the  whole  floor ;  this  necessary  luxury 
lessened  the  need  of  fuel.  Before  the  table  stood  a 
common   office-chair   covered   with    red    sheep's-skin, 


84       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

whitened  by  wear ;  six  other  shabb}^  chairs  completed 
the  furniture. 

On  the  fireplace  Lncien  saw  an  old  card-table  candle- 
stick, with  four  wax  candles,  covered  with  a  shade. 
Later,  when  he  one  day  asked  the  meaning  of  such 
luxury  in  the  midst  of  all  other  symptoms  of  direst 
poverty,  d'Arthez  answered  that  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  endure  the  smell  of  a  tallow  candle.  This  Httle 
circumstance  shows  the  delicacy  of  his  senses,  —  a  sure 
indication  of  an  exquisite  sensibilit}'. 

The  reading  lasted  seven  hours.  Daniel  listened  at- 
tentivel}',  without  saying  a  word  or  making  an  observa- 
tion, —  one  of  the  rarest  proofs  of  good  taste  an  author 
can  give. 

"  Well?  "  said  Lucien,  laying  the  manuscript  on  the 
fireplace. 

"  You  are  in  a  good  and  noble  path,"  answered  the 
3'Oung  man,  soberly,  but  your  work  should  be  done  over 
again.  If  you  do  not  wish  to  be  a  mere  imitator  of 
Walter  Scott  you  must  make  for  yourself  another  style, 
—  for  you  have  imitated  him.  You  begin,  like  him, 
with  a  long  conversation  to  introduce  your  characters ; 
when  they  have  talked,  you  bring  in  description  and 
action.  This  juxtaposition,  which  is  necessary  to  all 
dramatic  art,  you  employ  last.  Reverse  the  order  of 
thino^s.  Substitute  for  those  diff'use  conversations, 
which  are  fine  in  Scott  but  colorless  with  you,  de- 
scriptions, to  which  our  language  vividly  lends  itself. 
Let  dialogue  be  an  expected  consequence  which  crowns 
your  preparation  of  description  and  action.  Enter  at 
once  upon  the  action.  Handle  your  subject  first  one 
way,  then  another  ;  grasp  it  by  the  head  or  the  tail ;  in 


Great  Man  of  the  Pr^ovinces  m  Paris,      85 

short,  vary  your  methods,  don't  be  always  the  same. 
Walter  Scott  is  without  passion  ;  either  he  is  ignorant 
of  it,  or  tlie  lij^pocritical  morals  of  his  nation  forbid  him 
the  use  of  it.  To  him  woman  is  duty  incarnate.  With 
rare  exceptions  his  heroines  are  absolutely  the  same ; 
he  has  the  matter-of-ftict  formula  for  all  of  them.  They 
proceed  from  Clarissa  Harlowe  ;  reducing  them  to  one 
idea  he  could  not  help  making  them  of  one  tj'pe,  varied 
of  course,  by  a  more  or  less  vivid  coloring.  Woman 
has  brought  disorder  into  society  through  passion. 
Passion  has  an  infinitude  of  aspects.  Depict  passions 
and  you  have  immense  resources,  of  which  this  great 
genius  deprived  himself  that  he  might  be  read  by  the 
families  of  prudish  England.  In  France,  you  find  the 
charming  faults  and  brilliant  manners  of  Catholicism 
contrasting  with  the  severe  and  gloom}'  figures  of  Cal- 
vinism during  the  most  passionate  period  of  our  historj'. 
But  each  authentic  reign,  from  Charlemagne  down,  de- 
mands at  least  one  work,  —  sometimes  four  or  five  ;  es- 
pecially those  of  Louis  XIV.,  Henri  IV.,  and  Frangois  I. 
You  might  thus  write  the  picturesque  history  or  drama 
of  all  France,  in  which  3-ou  could  paint  the  costumes, 
furniture,  houses,  homes,  private  life  itself,  presenting 
at  the  same  time  the  spirit  of  the  age,  instead  of 
laborious^  narrating  well-known  facts.  You  have  a 
means  of  being  original,  by  correcting  the  popular  errors 
which  disfigure  the  memory  of  so  man}'  of  our  kings. 
Dare,  for  instance,  in  this  first  work  of  3'ours,  to  por- 
tray the  grand  and  magnificent  figure  of  Catherine, 
which  you  have  sacrificed  to  the  prejudices  which  still 
hover  round  her.  Paint  Charles  IX.  as  he  was,  and 
not  as  Protestant  writers  have  made  him.     At  the  end 


86       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

of  ten  years'  toil  and  persistence  3'ou  will  have  fame  and 
fortune." 

It  was  now  nine  o'clock.  Lucien  imitated  the  secret 
generosity  of  his  new  friend  by  asking  him  to  dine  at 
Edon's,  where  he  spent  twelve  francs.  During  this 
dinner  d'Arth^z  revealed  the  secret  of  his  hopes  and 
studies.  He  believed  in  no  great,  incomparable  talent 
without  a  deep,  a  profound  metaphysical  knowledge. 
At  the  present  moment  he  was  culling  the  philosophic 
riches  of  ancient  and  modern  times  to  assimilate  them. 
He  wished,  like  Moliere,  to  be  a  deep  philosopher  before 
making  comedies.  He  studied  the  written  world  and 
the  living  world  ;  the  thought  and  the  fact.  His  friends 
were  naturalists,  3'oung  physicians,  political  writers, 
and  artists, —  serious  men  and  studious,  all  of  them  full 
of  promise.  He  lived  by  writing  conscientious  articles, 
poorly  paid,  for  dictionaries,  either  biographic,  encj'clo- 
pedic,  or  of  natural  sciences.  He  wrote  neither  more 
nor  less  than  was  necessary  for  his  livelihood  while 
following  his  real  purpose.  DArthez  was  also  writing 
a  work  of  imagination,  undertaken  solely  to  study  the 
resources  of  the  French  language.  This  book,  still 
unfinished,  he  took  up  and  laid  aside  capriciously,  re- 
serving it  for  days  of  great  distress.  It  was  a  ps3'cho- 
logical  stud}^  of  deep  import  in  the  form  of  a  novel. 

Though  Daniel  unfolded  himself  modestly  he  seemed 
gigantic  to  Lucien.  By  the  time  the}'  left  the  restaurant, 
at  eleven  o'clock,  Lucien  was  possessed  b}'  an  ardent 
friendship  for  that  virtue  without  vainglory,  that  roble 
nature  so  unconseiousl}'  sublime.  He  did  not  discuss 
Daniel's  advice,  he  followed  it  to  the  letter.  His  fine 
talent,  already  ripened  b}-  thought,  accepted  this  criti- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      87 

cism,  made  for  him  and  not  for  others,  which  opened 
to  him  the  gates  of  a  glorious  palace  of  the  imagina- 
tion. The  lips  of  the  provincial  were  touched  with  a 
live  coal ;  the  words  of  the  Parisian  toiler  found  fruit- 
ful ground  in  the  brain  of  the  Angoiileme  poet.  Lucien 
recast  his  work. 

Jo3'ful  in  having  met  in  the  desert  of  Paris  a  heart 
which  overflowed  wiih  generous  sentiments  in  harmony 
with  his  own,  the  great  man  of  the  provinces  did  as  all 
other  3'oung  fellows  who  are  hungry  for  affection  do  ; 
he  fastened  like  a  chronic  malady  on  d'Arthez  ;  he 
called  for  him  on  his  wa}'  to  the  library ;  he  walked 
with  him  in  the  Luxembourg  if  the  weather  were  fine  ; 
he  accompanied  him  home  in  the  evening  after  dining 
beside  him  at  Flicoteaux's ;  in  short,  he  hugged  to  him 
as  closely  as  the  soldiers  of  the  Grand  Army  hugged 
each  other  on  the  frozen  plains  of  Russia.  During  the 
first  days  of  his  acquaintance  with  Daniel,  Lucien  noticed 
with  some  mortification  that  his  presence  caused  a  cer- 
tain constraint  among  the  friends  who  surrounded 
d'Arthez.  The  talk  of  these  superior  men,  of  whom 
Daniel  spoke  to  him  with  suppressed  enthusiasm,  often 
seemed  restrained  within  the  limits  of  a  reserve  which 
was  not  in  keeping  with  their  evidenth'  ardent  friend- 
ship ;  at  such  times  Lucien  would  take  his  leave  dis- 
creetl}^  feeling  pained  b}'  the  ostracism  of  which  he 
was  the  object,  and  also  goaded  by  the  curiosit}"  he  felt 
as  to  these  unknown  persons,  who  were  called  b}'  none 
but  their  baptismal  names.  All  of  them  bore  upon 
their  foreheads,  like  d'Arthez,  the  stamp  of  some  special 
genius. 

After  certain  secret  oppositions,  privatel}'  overcome 


88       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

by  Daniel,  Lucien  was  at  last  deemed  worthy  of  admis- 
sion into  this  brotherhood  of  great  minds.  Henceforth 
he  knew  these  men,  united  by  the  warmest  sympathies 
and  by  the  serious  purposes  of  their  intellectual  lives, 
who  met  nearly  every  evening  at  d'Arthez's  lodging. 
The}^  all  foresaw  in  Daniel  a  great  writer ;  the}''  consid- 
ered him  their  leader  ever  since  the  loss  of  their  first 
head,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  geniuses  of  modern 
times,  who,  for  reasons  unnecessar}'  to  mention  here, 
had  returned  to  his  life  in  the  provinces,  —  a  man  whom 
Lucien  often  heard  the  others  mention  under  the 
name  of  Louis.  The  reader  will  easil}'  understand  the 
interest  and  curiosity  these  various  persons  roused 
in  the  young  poet's  mind  when  we  mention  those  who 
have  since,  like  d'Arthez,  achieved  fame ;  some  others 
failed. 


(Jreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,      89 


VI. 


THE    BROTHERHOOD    OP    HEARTS    AND    MINDS. 

Among  those  who  are  still  living  was  Horace  Bian- 
chon,  then  a  pupil  at  the  Hotel-Dieu,  since  one  of  the 
lights  of  the  Ecole  cle  Paris,  and  too  well  known  now 
to  make  it  necessary  to  describe  his  person  or  explain 
his  character  and  the  nature  of  his  mind.  Next  to  him 
came  Leon  Giraud,  the  profound  philosopher,  the  bold 
theorist,  who  has  probed  all  systems,  expounded  them, 
formulated  them,  judged  them,  and  laid  them  at  the  feet 
of  his  idol,  HUMANITY,  —  always  grand,  even  in  his  er- 
rors, ennobled  by  sincerit3\  Intrepid  toiler,  conscien- 
tious scholar,  he  is  now  th^  leader  of  a  school  of  social 
and  moral  philosophy  on  which  time  alone  can  pronounce 
judgment.  If  his  convictions  have  turned  his  destin}' 
into  regions  foreign  to  those  of  his  comrades,  he  is  none 
the  less  their  faithful  friend. 

Art  was  represented  b}^  Joseph  Bridau,  one  of  the 
best  painters  of  the  New  School.  Were  it  not  for 
private  troubles,  to  which  his  too  impressionable  nature 
condemned  him,  Joseph  (whose  final  word  is  not  3'et 
said)  might  have  continued  the  traditions  of  the  old 
Italian  Masters ;  for  his  drawing  is  that  of  Rome  and 
his  coloring  of  Venice.  But  love  has  killed  him  ;  it  fills 
not  his  heart  onl}-,  but  his  brain  ;  it  upsets  his  life  and 
leads  him  to  describe  strange  zigzags.     If  his  mistress 


90       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

makes  him  too  happy  or  too  miserable  Joseph  sends  to 
the  Exposition  either  sketches  in  which  the  color 
smothers  the  design,  or  pictures,  finished  under  the  dis- 
tress of  some  imaginary  grief,  in  which  the  drawing  has 
so  absorbed  him  that  the  color,  which  he  handles  at  will, 
is  not  distinguishable.  He  constantly  disappoints  both 
the  public  and  his  friends.  Hoffmann  would  have 
adored  him  for  his  bold  innovations  on  the  field  of  Art, 
for  his  whims,  for  his  fanc}'.  When  he  is  quite  himself 
he  rouses  admiration  ;  he  enjoys  it ;  and  is  angrj^  when 
he  receives  no  praise  for  his  failures,  in  which  the  ej^es 
of  his  own  soul  see  that  which  is  absent  for  the  eyes  of 
the  public.  Capricious  to  the  last  degree,  his  friends 
have  often  seen  him  destro}^  a  finished  picture  because 
he  thought  it  too  carefull}'  worked  up.  "  Too  fiddling," 
he  would  sa}',  "  mere  pupil  work."  Original,  and  some- 
times sublime,  he  has  all  the  troubles  and  all  the  enjoy- 
ments of  nervous  temperaments  in  whom  a  desire  for 
perfection  often  turns  to  disease.  His  spirit  is  com- 
panion to  that  of  Sterne,  —  not,  of  course,  in  literary 
achievement.  His  sayings,  his  flashes  of  thought  have 
unspeakable  savor.  He  is  eloquent  and  knows  how  to 
love  his  friends,  though  alwa3's  with  the  natural  caprice 
which  he  puts  into  his  feelings  as  he  does  into  his  work. 
He  was  dear  to  the  brotherhood  for  precisely  that  which 
the  commonplace  world  would  have  called  his  defects. 

Next  we  have  Fulgence  Ridal,  one  of  the  few  writers 
of  our  day  who  are  highl}^  gifted  with  the  comic  view  ; 
a  poet  IndiflTerent  to  fame,  tossing  to  the  theatres  his 
commonest  productions,  and  keeping  in  the  harem  of 
his  own  mind,  for  himself  and  for  his  friends,  his  choi- 
cest scenes ;  asking   nothing   from  the  public  but  the 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      91 

necessary  money  to  maintain  his  independence,  and  do- 
ing no  more  work  when  that  was  attained.  Lazy,  j'et 
prolific  as  Rossini,  compelled,  like  all  the  great  comic 
poets,  like  Moliere  and  Rabelais,  to  consider  ever}'- 
thing  on  the  side  of  the  pro  and  against  the  co^itra, 
he  was  sceptical,  he  could  laugh  and  he  did  laugh  at 
everything.  Fulgence  Ridal  is  a  great  practical  phi- 
losopher ;  but  his  science  of  society,  his  genius  of  ob- 
serv^ation,  his  contempt  for  fame  have  by  no  means 
withered  his  heart.  As  active  for  others  as  he  is  in- 
dolent for  himself,  when  he  does  make  a  move  it  is 
always  for  a  friend.  Not  to  give  the  lie  to  his  outward 
man  which  is  truly  Rabelaisian,  he  neither  dislikes  good 
living  nor  does  he  seek  it ;  he  is  both  grave  and  mirth- 
ful. His  friends  used  to  call  him  ''  the  dog  of  the 
regiment,"  and  the  name  suits  him  well. 

Three  others,  quite  as  remarkable  as  the  four  now 
sketched  in  profile,  were  fated  to  succumb  in  the  battle 
of  life :  Mej'raux  first,  who  died  after  exciting  the 
famous  dispute  between  Cuvier  and  Geoffroy-Sainte- 
Hilaire  on  the  great  question  which  divided  the  scien- 
tific world  between  those  rival  geniuses  some  months 
before  the  death  of  the  one  who  held  to  close  analytic 
science,  against  the  pantheism  of  the  other,  who  still 
lives  and  whom  Germany  reveres.  Meyraux  was  the 
special  friend  of  Louis  Lambert,  who  was  soon  to  be 
torn  from  the  world  of  intellect  b}'  a  premature  death. 

To  these  two  men,  each  marked  for  untimeh'  death, 
both  to-day  obscure  in  spite  of  the  vast  reachings  of 
their  knowledge  and  of  their  genius,  we  must  add 
Michel  Chrestien,  a  republican  of  broad  views,  who 
dreamed  of  a  reconstructed  Europe,  and  who  in  1830 


92       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

counted  for  much  in  the  moral  movement  of  the  Saint- 
Siraonians.  A  politician  of  the  stripe  of  Saint-Just  and 
Danton,  but  simple  and  gentle  as  a  girl,  full  of  illusions, 
full  of  love,  gifted  with  a  melodious  voice  that  would 
have  ravished  Mozart,  Weber,  or  Rossini,  and  sing- 
ing certain  songs  of  Beranger  in  a  way  to  intoxicate 
a  heart  of  poes}',  love,  and  hope,  —  Michel  Chrestien, 
poor  as  Lucien,  as  Daniel,  as  all  his  friends,  earned  his 
living  with  the  indifference  of  a  Diogenes.  He  made 
tables  of  contents  for  great  works,  prospectuses  for  pub- 
lishers, keeping  silence  about  his  real  opinions,  as  the 
grave  is  silent  on  the  secrets  of  death.  This  ga}' 
bohemian  of  intellect,  this  great  mute  statesman,  who 
might  perhaps  have  changed  the  face  of  the  world,  died, 
a  simple  soldier,  in  the  cloister  of  Saint-Merri.  The 
ball  of  a  shopkeeper  sent  out  of  life  one  of  the  noblest 
creatures  that  ever  trod  the  soil  of  France.  Michel 
Chrestien  perished  for  other  doctrines  than  his  own. 
His  ideal  federation  threatened  European  aristocracy 
far  more  than  the  republican  propaganda  ever  did ;  it 
was  more  rational,  less  wild,  than  the  shocking  ideas 
of  indefinite  libertj-  proclaimed  by  those  young  madmen 
who  thought  themselves  the  heirs  of  the  Convention. 
This  noble  plebeian  was  mourned  b}'  all  who  knew  him  ; 
none  have  ceased  to  think,  and  think  often,  of  this 
great  and  hidden  statesman. 

These  nine  men  formed  a  brotherhood  in  which  es- 
teem and  friendship  caused  peace  and  good-will  to  reign 
among  ideas  and  doctrines  that  were  utterly-  opposed  to 
each  other.  Daniel  d'Arthez,  a  man  of  rank  from 
Picard}',  held  to  monarchy  with  a  conviction  equal  to 
that  of  Michel  Chrestien  for  his  European  federalism. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  iyi  Paris.      93 

Fiilgence  Ridal  laughed  at  the  philosophical  doctrines 
of  Leon  Giraud,  who  himself  predicted  to  d'Arthez  the 
end  of  Christianity  and  also  of  the  Family.  Michel 
Chrestien,  who  believed  in  the  religion  of  Christ,  the 
divine  law-giver  of  Equalit}-,  defended  the  immortality 
of  the  soul  against  the  scalpel  of  Bianchon  the  analyst. 
The}'  all  argued  and  discussed,  but  never  disputed. 
They  had  no  vanit}',  being  their  own  audience.  They 
talked  of  their  work  and  consulted  each  other  with  the 
adorable  sincerity  of  youth.  Was  it  a  matter  of  serious 
moment?  then  the  opposer  abandoned  his  own  views 
to  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  his  friend,  —  all  the  more 
qualified  to  help  because  he  was  impartial  in  a  cause, 
or  in  a  work,  which  was  foreign  to  his  own  ideas. 
Nearly  all  these  brethren  were  gentle  and  tolerant  in 
spirit ;  two  qualities  wliich  proved  their  superiorit}' . 
Envy,  that  horrible  record-office  of  hopes  deceived, 
talents  miscarried,  successes  foiled,  pretensions  wounded, 
was  unknown  to  them.  All,  moreover,  were  following 
different  paths. 

Thus  it  was  that  those  who  were  admitted,  like  Lu- 
cien,  to  this  brotherhood  felt  at  their  ease.  True  talent 
is  always  frank,  hearty,  open,  never  stiff;  its  wit  and 
epigram  delight  the  mind,  and  are  not  directed  against 
self-esteem.  When  the  first  emotion  of  respectful  diffi- 
dence passed  off,  nothing  remained  but  infinite  pleasure 
in  the  companionship  of  these  fine  3'oung  men.  Famil- 
iarity did  not  exclude  the  sense  that  each  had  his  own 
value  ;  every  man  felt  a  deep  respect  for  his  neighbor ; 
therefore  each,  feeling  the  power  within  him  to  be  either 
the  benefactor  or  the  one  benefited,  accepted  kindnesses 
from  his  neighbor  without  demur.     Their  conversations, 


94       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

full  of  charm  and  never  flagging,  covered  the  most  varied 
subjects.  Winged  like  arrows,  their  words  flew  to  their 
point,  and  flew  fast.  Great  external  ix)verty  and  the 
splendor  of  intellectual  w^ealth>produces  a  singular  con- 
trast. Among  these  friends,  none  thought  of  the  hard 
realities  of  life  unless  to  make  amicable  jokes  upon  them. 
One  da}'  when  the  cold  had  set  in  unexpectedly^  five  of 
d'Arthez'  friends,  each  prompted  b}'  the  same  thought, 
arrived  with  an  armful  of  wood  under  their  cloaks,  as 
often  happens  at  picnics,  where  each  guest  is  asked  to 
bring  a  dish,  and  they  all  bring  pates. 

Gifted  with  that  moral  beauty  which  reacts  upon  form, 
and  which,  not  less  than  toil  and  midnight  stud}',  gilds 
3'oung  faces  with  a  tint  divine,  each  of  these  friends  had 
marked  and  rather  haggard  features,  which  the  purit}' 
of  their  lives  and  the  fire  of  thought  composed  and 
sanctified.  Their  foreheads  were  noticeable  for  poetic 
breadth.  Their  eager,  brilliant  eyes  revealed  a  life  un- 
stained. The  suff'erings  of  poverty,  when  felt,  were  so 
gayl}'  borne,  so  heartil}'  accepted,  that  the}'  did  not 
change  the  serenity  characteristic  of  the  faces  of  young 
men  who  are  still  guiltless  of  grave  w^-ong,  who  have 
not  belittled  themselves  by  any  of  those  base  compro- 
mises to  which  poverty,  ill-endured,  tempts  youth  — 
the  longing  for  success  through  any  means  whatever, 
fair  or  foul,  or  the  facile  compliance  with  which  so 
many  literary  men  either  welcome  or  pardon  treachery. 
That  which  makes  such  friendships  among  men  indis- 
soluble, and  doubles  their  charm,  is  a  sentiment  which 
can  never  belong  to  love,  —  namely,  security.  These 
young  men  were  sure  of  themselves  ;  the  enemy  of  one 
was  the  enemy  of  all ;  they  w^ould  have  ruined  their  own 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      95 

most  urgent  interests  to  obey  the  sacred  solidarity  of 
their  souls.  Incapable  of  baseness,  each  could  pro- 
nounce a  formidable  "  No  !  "  to  every  accusation  against 
the  others ;  he  knew  he  might  securel}'  defend  them. 
Equals  in  nobility  of  heart,  equals  in  strength  of  feel- 
ing, they  could  think  all  and  say  all  to  each  other  on 
the  common  ground  of  science  and  of  intellect ;  hence 
the  candor  of  their  intercourse,  the  ga3'ety  of  their 
speech.  Certain  of  understanding  each  other,  their 
minds  could  ramble  as  the}'  pleased  ;  they  kept  nothing 
back,  neither  their  hopes  and  fears,  nor  their  griefs  and 
joys  ;  they  thought  and  suffered  with  open  hearts.  The 
precious  delicac}"  which  makes  the  well-known  fable  of 
the  "  Two  Friends"  a  treasure  to  fine  souls,  was  ha- 
bitual with  them.  Their  reluctance  to  admit  an  untried 
new-comer  into  their  sphere  can  be  readily  understood. 
They  were  too  well  aware  of  the  happiness  and  lofti- 
ness of  their  intercourse  to  risk  its  being  troubled  by 
new  and  unknown  elements. 

This  federation  of  feelings  and  interests  lasted  with- 
out jar  or  disappointment  for  twenty  years.  Death, 
which  first  took  Louis  Lambert,  Me3'raux,  and  Michel 
Chrestien,  alone  had  power  to  disperse  this  noble 
pleiades.  When,  in  1832,  Michel  Chrestien  fell,  Horace 
Bianchon,  Daniel  d'Arthez,  Leon  Giraud,  Joseph  Bridau, 
and  Fulgence  Ridal  went,  in  spite  of  the  danger  of  such 
a  step,  and  recovered  his  body  at  Saint-Merri,  to  pay  it 
their  last  honor  in  the  face  of  burning  Politics.  They 
took  the  dear  remains  to  P^re-Lachaise  b}'  night.  Horace 
Bianchon  faced  all  difficulties  and  yielded  to  none  ;  he  im- 
plored the  sanction  of  the  ministers,  telling  them  of  his 
long  friendship  for  the  dead  Federalist.     That  burial  was 


96       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

a  scene  deep-graven  in  the  memoiy  of  the  friends,  and 
the}^  were  few  in  number,  who  surrounded  the  five  al- 
readj'  celebrated  men  who  prepared  it.  As  you  walk 
through  that  beautiful  cemeter}',  you  ma}'  see  a  spot, 
bought  a  per2^etuite^  where  a  grassed  grave  lies,  and  at 
its  head  a  black  wooden  cross  on  which  is  marked  a 
name  in  scarlet  letters,  Michel  Chrestien.  It  is  the 
onl}^  monument  of  its  kind.  The  five  friends  thought 
they  could  best  do  homage  to  that  simple  man  b}' 
such  simplicit}'. 

Here,  then,  in  this  cold  attic-room,  the  noblest  aspira- 
tions of  feeling  were  realized.  There  these  brothers  in 
love,  all  equall}'  strong  in  their  different  departments  of 
knowledge,  all  tested  as  hy  fire  in  the  crucible  of  pov- 
erty, enlightened  each  other  mutualh^  in  simple  good 
faith,  telling  their  every  thought,  even  their  worst.  Once 
admitted  to  the  friendship  of  these  choice  souls  and  ac- 
cepted as  an  equal,  Lucien  stood  among  them  for  poesy 
and  beauty.  He  read  them  his  sonnets,  and  the}'  ad- 
mired them.  The}'  would  ask  him  for  a  sonnet  as  he 
would  ask  Michel  Chrestien  to  sing  a  song.  In  the 
desert  of  Paris  Lucien  found  an  oasis  in  the  rue  des 
Quatre-Vents. 

At  the  beginning  of  October,  Lucien,  having  spent 
his  last  penny  in  buying  a  small  supply  of  wood,  was 
without  resources  in  the  midst  of  his  most  ardent  toil, 
that  of  remodelling  his  book.  Daniel  d'Arthez  burned 
peat,  and  bore  his  poverty  heroically  ;  he  never  com- 
plained ;  he  was  careful  as  an  old  maid  and  methodical 
as  a  miser.  Such  courage  excited  that  of  Lucien,  who, 
lately  admitted  to  the  brotherhood,  felt  an  invincible  re- 
pugnance to  speak  of  his  distress.    One  morning  he  went 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      97 

as  far  as  the  rue  du  Coq  to  sell  "  The  Archer  of  Charles 
IX."  to  Doguereau,  but  did  not  find  him.  Lucien  did 
not  3^et  understand  the  comprehension  of  great  minds. 
Each  of  his  new  friends  was  fully  able  to  conceive 
the  weakness  of  the  poetic  nature,  the  depression  that 
must  follow  the  efforts  of  a  soul  over-excited  b\'  the  topics 
it  was  his  mission  to  reproduce.  These  men,  so  strong 
to  bear  their  own  troubles,  were  tender  to  those  of  Lu- 
cien. Thev  discovered  liis  want  of  means.  After  a 
restful  evening  of  talk,  and  meditation,  and  poes}-,  of 
flights  with  outspread  wings  through  the  regions  of  in- 
tellect, the  future  of  nations,  the  domain  of  histor}',  the 
brotherhood  crowned  their  da}'  by  an  act  which  will 
show  in  its  sequel  how  little  Lucien  had  really  under- 
stood his  new  friends. 

"Lucien,  my  friend,"  said  Daniel,  "you  did  not 
come  to  dinner  at  Flicoteaux's,  and  we  all  know  why." 

Lucien  could  not  restrain  the  tears  which  came  into 
his  e3'es. 

"You've  lacked  confidence  in  us,"  said  Michel 
Chrestien,  "  we  shall  score  that  up,  and  —  " 

"We  have  all,"  said  Bianchon,  "  found  some  extra 
work :  I  have  been  taking  care  of  a  rich  patient  for 
Desplein,  d'Arthez  got  an  article  to  write  for  the 
*  Encyclopedic  ; '  Chrestien  was  starting  one  evening 
to  sing  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es  with  a  handkerchief  and 
four  candles,  when  he  got  a  pamphlet  to  write  for  a  man 
who  pretends  to  be  a  statesman,  and  wanted  six  hun- 
dred francs'  worth  of  Machiavelli ;  Leon  Giraud  has 
borrowed  fifty  francs  of  his  publisher ;  Joseph  sold 
some  sketches  ;  and  Fulgence  got  his  play  acted  Sunday 

to  a  full  house." 

7 


98       Gri'eat  3Ian  of  the  Proviiices  in  Paris. 

"And  here  are  two  hundred  francs,"  said  Daniel; 
"accept  them,  and  don't  let  us  have  to  scold  you 
again ! " 

"I  do  believe  he  wants  to  hug  us,"  said  Chrestien, 
"  as  if  we  had  done  something  extraordinarj' ! " 

To  fully  understand  Lucien's  feelings  in  the  midst  of 
this  living  encyclopedia  of  3'oung  minds,  all  of  diverse 
originality  and  all  equally  generous,  we  must  here  give 
the  answers  which  Lucien  received  the  following  day 
from  his  brother-in-law,  his  sister,  and  his  mother,  in 
repl}'  to  a  letter  written  b}'  him  to  his  family,  —  a 
masterpiece  of  sensibilit}'  and  good  intentions,  but  a 
dreadful  cr}'  drawn  from  him  by  his  pecuniary  distress. 

My  dear  Lucien  (wrote  David  Sechard),  — You  will 
find  inclosed  a  draft  at  ninety  days  to  your  order  for 
two  hundred  francs.  You  can  negotiate  it  with  Monsieur 
Metivier,  paper-maker,  rue  Serpente,  who  is  our  correspondent 
in  Paris. 

My  dear  brother,  we  have  absolutely  nothing.  My  wife 
has  taken  charge  of  the  printing-office,  and  does  her  task 
with  a  devotion,  a  patience,  a  business  activity  which  make 
me  bless  heaven  daily  for  having  given  me  such  an  angel. 
She  said  it  was  impossible  to  send  you  the  help  you  need. 
But,  my  dear  friend,  I  think  you  are  in  so  right  a  road,  and 
have  chosen  such  noble  companions,  that  you  cannot  fail  of 
your  destiny.  Therefore,  unknown  to  Eve,  I  send  you  this 
draft,  which  I  will  find  means  of  paying  when  it  falls  due. 
Do  not  abandon  the  path  you  are  in  ;  it  is  hard,  but  it  will 
be  glorious.  I  would  rather  suffer  a  hundred  evils  than  have 
you  fall  into  any  of  those  Parisian  mud-holes  I  have  known 
of.  Have  the  com^age  to  avoid,  as  you  have  already  done,  bad 
places  and  bad  friends,  also  heedless  minds  and  a  certain  class 
of  literary  men  whom  I  learned  to  estimate  at  their  true  value 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,       99 

during  my  stay  in  Paris.  Be  the  worthy  emulator  of  the 
noble  souls  of  whom  you  tell  me,  —  d' Arthez,  Chrestien, 
Giraud,  who,  for  the  future,  will  be  dear  to  me  also.  Such 
a  course  cannot  fail  to  be  soon  rewarded. 

Adieu,  my  dearly-beloved  brother.     Your  letter  delights 
my  heart,  for  I  did  not  expect  of  you  such  courage. 

David. 

My  dear  Lucien  (wrote  his  sister,  less  cheerfully),  — 
Your  letter  made  us  weep.  Tell  those  noble  friends  towards 
whom  your  guardian  angel  led  you  that  a  mother  and  a 
sister  pray  for  them.  Yes,  their  names  are  engraved  upon 
my  heart ;  I  hope  I  may  some  day  see  them.  Here,  my  dear 
brother,  we  are  working  like  laborers.  My  husband,  that 
great  unrecognized  soul,  whom  I  love  daily  more  and  more 
as  I  hourly  discover  new  riches  in  his  heart,  has  neglected 
the  printing-office,  and  I  know  why.  Your  poverty,  and 
mine,  and  the  mother's  cut  him  to  the  heart.  Our  dear 
David  is  like  Prometheus  gnawed  by  the  vulture,  a  bitter 
grief  with  a  sharp  beak.  As  for  himself,  the  noble  man  ! 
he  never  thinks  of  self,  and  yet  he  aspires  to  a  fortune  — 
for  our  sakes  !  He  spends  his  whole  time  in  experiments 
for  making  paper  ;  and  he  has  asked  me  to  take  his  place  in 
managing  the  printing-office,  where  he  helps  me  as  much  as 
his  absorbing  occupations  will  allow.  But  alas  !  I  am  preg- 
nant. That  event,  which  might  have  crowned  me  with  joy, 
fills  me  with  dread  in  the  situation  in  which  we  now  are. 
My  mother  has  renewed  her  youth,  and  found  streng-th  for 
the  fatiguing  duties  of  monthly  nursing. 

If  it  were  not  for  the  anxieties  of  money,  we  should  be  so 
happy.  Old  Monsieur  Sechard  will  not  give  a  farthing  to 
his  son.  David  went  to  see  him  and  tried  to  borrow  a  small 
sum  to  help  you  in  your  present  necessity,  for  your  letter 
distressed  him  greatly,  but  the  old  man  said :  "  I  know 
Lucien ;    he  '11  have  his  head  turned,  and  commit  follies." 


100     Great  Ma7i  of  the  Pi'ovinces  in  Paris. 

My  mother  and  I,  without  David's  knowledge,  have  pawned 
a  few  things,  which  my  mother  will  redeem  as  soon  as  she 
earns  the  money.  We  have  thus  collected  a  hundred  francs, 
which  I  send  you  by  coach. 

K  I  did  not  answer  your  first  letter  d  o  not  be  vexed  with 
me,  dear  friend.  We  were  then  sitting  up  all  night,  and  I 
was  working  like  a  man ;  I  did  not  know  I  had  such  strength. 
Madame  de  Bargeton  is  a  woman  without  heart  or  soul ;  she 
owed  it  to  herself,  even  if  she  loved  you  no  longer,  to  protect 
and  help  you  after  tearing  you  from  us  and  flinging  you 
into  that  horrible  Parisian  ocean,  where  it  is  only  by  the 
mercy  of  God  that  you  have  found  true  friends  amid  the 
flood  of  men  and  selfish  interests.  She  is  not  to  be  regretted. 
I  have  wished  you  had  some  devoted  woman  near  you,  — 
another  myself ;  but  now  that  I  know  you  have  such 
friends,  I  am  satisfied.  Spread  your  wings,  my  beautiful 
loved  genius  !  you  will  yet  be  our  glory  as  you  are  our  love. 

Your  Eve. 

My  darling  Child,  —  After  all  that  your  sister  has 
said  I  have  only  to  add  my  blessing,  and  tell  you  that  my 
thoughts  and  prayers  are  filled  with  you,  —  alas  !  to  the  detri- 
ment, I  fear,  of  those  about  me ;  in  some  hearts  the  absent 
are  always  present,  —  it  is  so  with  mine. 

Your  Mother. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Lucieii  was  able,  two  days 
later,  to  return  the  loan  his  friends  had  so  gracefully 
made  him.  Never,  perhaps,  had  he  felt  more  inward 
pride  ;  and  the  elation  of  his  self-satisfaction  did  not 
escape  the  searching  ej'es  of  his  friends  and  their  delicate 
sensibilities. 

"  One  would  think  3'ou  had  a  horror  of  owing  us 
anything,"  cried  Fulgence. 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  An  Paris.     101 

"The  satisfaction  he  shows  is  very  serious  to  1113' 
ej^es,"  said  Michel  Chrestien  ;  "  it  confrms  an  cbser^^a- 
tiori  I  have  ah-eady  made  ;  Lucien  has  a  great  deal  of 
vanit3\" 

"  He  is  a  poet,"  said  d'Arthez. 

"  Wh}'  are  you  vexed  that  1  should  have  such  a  nat- 
ural feeling?"  asked  Lucien. 

"We  ought  to  give  him  credit  for  not  hiding  it,"  said 
Leon  Giraud ;  "he  is  still  frank,  but  I  am  afraid  he 
will  some  da}'  avoid  us." 

"Why?"  asked  Lucien. 

"Because  w^e  read  ^-our  heart,"  replied  Joseph 
Bridau. 

"  You  have  a  diabolical  spirit,"  said  Michel  Chrestien, 
"  which  makes  you  justify  to  3'our  own  mind  a  thing 
quite  contrar}^  to  our  principles  ;  instead  of  being  a 
sophist  in  ideas,  3'ou  are  a  sophist  in  action." 

"  On  what  do  3'ou  base  that  charge?"  said  Lucien. 

"  Your  vanit3',  m3'  dear  poet,  which  is  so  great  that 
3'ou  bring  it  into  your  friendships,"  said  Fulgence. 
'•  All  vanit3^  of  that  kind  is  shocking  egotism,  and  ego- 
tism poisons  friendship." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  cried  Lucien,  "  3'ou  don't  under- 
stand how  trul3'  I  love  you." 

"If  3'ou  loved  us  as  we  love  each  other,  would  3'ou 
have  made  such  haste  and  shown  such  eagerness  in 
pa3'ing  back  the  mone3^  we  had  so  much  pleasure  in 
giving  3' on  ?  " 

"  We  never  lend  here,  we  give  things  outright,"  said 
Joseph  Bridau,  brusquel3'. 

"  Don't  think  us  ver3'  brutal,  dear  boy,"  said  Michel 
Chrestien,  '•  we  are  onl3'  far-seeing.     AVe  are  afraid  the 


102     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

dav  mav  come  when  vou  will  prefer  to  shake  us  off 
rr/ther  than  owe  a^^iN'thing  to  pure  friendship.  Read 
Goethe's  Tasso,  —  the  finest  work  of  his  fine  genius  ; 
there  you  will  see  how  the  poet  loved  brilliant  stuffs  and 
festivals,  and  triumphs,  and  all  that  dazzled  him.  "Well, 
do  3^ou  be  Tasso  without  his  folly.  If  the  world  and 
its  pleasures  call  to  you,  stay  here  with  us.  Put  into 
the  region  of  ideas  the  emotions  you  would  spend  upon 
the  vanities  of  life.  Make  3'our  actions  virtuous  ;  keep 
the  evil  of  life  for  your  thoughts  ;  and  beware,  as 
d'Arthez  told  3'ou,  of  thinking  right  and  doing  ill." 

Lucien  bowed  his  head ;  he  knew  his  friends  were 
right. 

"  I  admit  I  am  not  as  strong  as  you  all  are,"  he  said, 
with  an  adorable  look.  "I  have  neither  the  shoulders 
nor  the  loins  to  wrestle  with  Paris  or  bear  up  bravely. 
Nature  has  given  us  different  temperaments  and  dif- 
ferent faculties  ;  vou  can  see  as  I  cannot  both  sides  of 
vice  and  virtue.  For  my  part,  I  am  already  tired  out ; 
and  I  tell  you  so  frankly." 

"We  will  support  3"0u,"  said  d'Arthez;  "that  is 
exactly  what  faithful  friends  are  made  for." 

"The  help  I  have  just  received  is  accidental,"  con- 
tinued Lucien  ;  "  we  are  all  poor  together.  I  shall  soon 
be  in  want  again.  Chrestien  has  no  influence  with 
publishers  ;  Bianchon,  too,  is  outside  of  the  business. 
D'Arthez  knows  onl3'  the  scientific  houses,  or  the  spe- 
cialists who  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  publication  of 
light  literature.  Leon,  Fulgence  and  Bridau  work  in  a 
line  of  ideas  which  are  leagues  awa3'  from  publishers. 
No  ;  I  must  decide  upon  a  course,  —  I  must  find  some 


career." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      lOS 

'•  Keep  to  ours  and  suffer,"  said  Bianclion  ;  "  suffer 
bravel}'  and   trust  to    toil." 

"  What  is  suffering  to  you  is  death  to  me,"  said  Lu- 
cien,  hastily. 

"  Before  the  cock  crows  thrice,''  said  Leon  Giraud, 
smilins-,  "  he  will  betray  the  cause  of  toil  and  take  to 
indolence  and  vice." 

"What  has  toil  done  for  3'ou?"  asked  Lucien, 
laughing. 

"  Rome  is  not  half-way  between  Paris  and  Ital}'," 
said  Joseph  Bridau.  "  You  expect  your  spring  peas  to 
ripen  read}^  cooked."    - 

"They  only  do  that  for  the  sons  of  peers  of  France," 
said  Michel  Chrestien.  ''As  for  us,  we  have  to  sow 
them,  and  water  them,  but  they  taste  all  the  better  for 
that." 

The  conversation  now  turned  pleasantly  to  other  sub- 
jects. These  delicate  hearts  and  keen  minds  tried  to 
make  Lucien  forget  the  little  quarrel;  he  had  learned, 
however,  that  it  would  be  difficult  indeed  to  mislead 
them. 

Before  long  an  inward  despair  took  possession  of 
him,  but  he  carefully  hid  it  from  the  brethren,  implaca- 
ble mentors  as  they  now  seemed  to  him.  His  Southern 
nature,  which  plaj-ed  so  easil}'  upon  the  ke3'board  of 
sentiments,  led  him  to  make  various  contradictory  res- 
olutions. Several  times  he  dropped  hints  of  entering 
journaUsm,  but  when  he  did  so  his  friends  would  all 
cry  out :  "  Beware  of  that !  " 

"  It  would  be  the  grave  of  the  beautiful,  poetic  Lu- 
cien whom  we  know  and  love,"  said  d'Arthez. 

"  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  resist  the  alterna- 


1 04       G-reat  Man  of  tJie  Provinces  in  Paris. 

tions  of  work  and  pleasure  in  the  life  of  journalists  ; 
such  resistance  comes  from  the  very  depths  of  virtue. 
You  would  be  so  deHghted  to  exercise  such  power,  a 
power  of  hfe  and  death  over  the  works  of  thought,  that 
3'ou  could  make  yourself  an  accomplished  journalist  in 
a  couple  of  months.  Once  a  journalist,  and  3'ou  are 
proconsul  in  the  republic  of  letters.  He  who  can  say 
all  will  do  all,  —  that  was  Napoleon's  own  maxim  ;  and 
it  is  easily  interpreted." 

"  But  I  shall  always  be  near  3'ou,"  said  Lucien. 

"  No,  indeed,"  cried  Fulgence  ;  "  we  shall  count  for 
nothing  then.  When  you  are  a  journalist  you  will 
think  no  more  of  us  than  a  brilliant,  idolized  opera- 
girl  in  her  silk-lined  carriage  thinks  of  her  village,  her 
cows,  and  her  wooden  shoes.  As  it  is,  you  have  too 
many  of  a  journalist's  requirements  ;  you  have  all  his 
brillianc}^  and  suddenness  of  thought ;  3'Ou  would  never 
repress  a  witt}^  saying,  however  much  it  might  cut 
a  friend.  I  know  what  journalists  are  ;  I  see  them 
at  the  theatre  and  they  shock  me.  Journalism  is  hell,  — 
a  pit  of  iniquity,  falsehood,  treachery,  which  no  one  can 
cross  and  no  one  can  leave  with  a  pure  soul,  —  unless 
it  be  Dante  under  protection  of  Virgil's  laurel." 

The  more  the  brotherhood  warned  him  against  this 
course,  the  more  Lucien's  desire  to  know  its  perils 
tempted  him  to  risk  them  ;  and  he  began  to  discuss  the 
question  seriousl}''  with  himself:  Was  it  not  ridiculous 
to  allow  distress  to  overtake  him  without  attempting  in 
this  way  to  avoid  it?  His  unsuccessful  efforts  in  behalf 
of  his  first  book  made  him  reluctant  to  begin  another. 
Besides,  how  could  he  live  during  the  time  it  would  take 
to  write  it?     One  month's  privation  had  exhausted  his 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      105 

supply  of  patience.  Wh}-  could  not  he  do  nobly  what 
journalists  did  ignobly,  without  conscience  or  dignity? 
His  friends  insulted  him  by  their  want  of  trust;  he 
would  prove  to  them  his  strength  of  character.  Besides, 
he  might  soon  be  able  to  help  them  and  be  the  herald 
of  their  fame. 

' '  What  is  friendship  worth  if  it  shrinks  from  a  man 
under  any  circumstances  ?  "  he  said  one  night  to  Michel 
Chrestien,  having  walked  home  with  him  in  company 
with  Leon  Giraud. 

"  Our  friendship  would  shrink  from  nothing,"  replied 
Chrestien.  "  If  you  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  kill  your 
mistress  I  would  help  you  to  hide  the  crime,  and  I  might 
perhaps  esteem  you  the  more  for  it ;  but  if  you  made 
yourself  a  spy  I  would  avoid  you  with  horror,  for  you 
would  then  be  deliberately  base  and  infamous,  —  and 
that  is  journalism  described  in  two  words.  Friendship 
pardons  error,  the  unreflecting  act  of  passion  ;  but  it 
ought  to  be  implacable  to  those  who  deliberately  traffic 
on  their  souls,  their  minds,  their  thought." 

"Why  cannot  I  make  myself  a  journalist  merel}'  to 
sell  my  own  novels  and  poems,  and  give  up  journalism 
when  I  have  once  made  m3'self  a  name?" 

"  Machiavelli  could  do  that,  but.  not  Lucien  de 
Rubempre,"  said  Leon  Giraud. 

''  Ha!  "  cried  Lucien,  "I'll  prove  to  you  that  I  am 
better  than  Machiavelli !  " 

"There!"  exclaimed  Michel,  seizing  Leon  b}'  the 
shoulder,  "you  have  driven  him  into  it!  Lucien,"  he 
went  on,  "  you  have  three  hundred  francs  now  ;  that  is 
enough  to  live  on  comfortably  for  three  months ;  well, 
then,  go  to  work ;  write  a  second  novel ;  d'Arthez  and 


106       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Fulgence  will  help  you  with  the  plot ;  you  will  improve, 
you  have  the  makings  of  a  novelist  in  3'ou.  While  3'ou 
do  that  I  will  go  m3'self  into  one  of  those  lupanars  of 
thought ;  I  '11  make  m3'self  a  journalist  for  six  months 
and  sell  3'our  next  book  to  a  publisher  by  attacking  his 
publications  ;  I  '11  write  articles  and  get  them  written 
for  3'OU  ;  we  '11  organize  a  success  ;  you  shall  be  a  great 
man  and  still  remain  our  Lucien." 

' '  Then  3'ou  despise  me  so  much  that  you  think  I 
should  fail  where  you  would  succeed?"  said  the  poet. 

' '  Good  God,  forgive  him  !  what  a  child  he  is  !  "  cried 
Chrestien. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      107 


VII. 


EXTERNALS    OP    JOURNALISM. 

LuciEN  had,  meanwhile,  studied  the  wit  and  the 
character  of  the  articles  in  the  petits  journaux.  Satis- 
fied that  he  was  fully  the  equal  of  the  cleverest  of  their 
writers,  he  practised  their  gymnastics  of  thought  in 
secret  until,  at  last,  he  set  out  one  fine  morning  with 
the  full  determination  of  taking  service  under  some 
colonel  of  what  we  may  call  the  Light  Brigade  of  the 
Press.  He  dressed  himself  in  his  best,  and  reflected,  as 
he  crossed  the  bridges,  that  authors,  journalists,  writers, 
in  short,  his  brethren  of  the  pen,  would  certainl}'  be 
more  disinterested  and  would  show  him  more  considera- 
tion than  the  two  species  of  publisher  who  had  hitherto 
crushed  his  hopes.  He  could  not,  he  thought,  fail  to 
meet  with  S3'mpath3\  perhaps  afi'ection,  such  as  the 
fraternit}'  in  the  rue  Quatre-Vents  had  already  given 
him. 

Filled  with  such  thoughts  and  the  emotions  of  pre- 
sentiment not  yet  distrusted,  —  a  species  of  emotion 
dear  to  all  men  of  imagination,  —  he  reached  the  rue 
Saint-Fiacre,  near  the  boulevard  Montmartre,  and  stood 
at  last  before  a  house  in  which  were  the  oflflces  of  a 
petit  journal,  with  as  much  trepidation  as  a  3'oung  man 
feels  on  entering  a  place  of  ill-repute.  Nevertheless, 
he  went  up  the  stairs  to  the  entresol,  where  the  ofitices 


108       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

were.  In  the  first  room,  divided  into  two  equal  parts 
b}'  a  partition  partly  of  wood  and  partly  of  wire  grating 
which  reached  to  the  ceiling,  he  found  a  one-armed  sol- 
dier, who  was  holding  several  reams  of  paper  on  his 
head  with  his  one  hand,  and  the  certificate  required  by 
the  Stamp  office  between  his  teeth.  This  poor  man, 
whose  face  was  yellow  and  mottled  with  red  spots 
(which  earned  him  the  name  of  Coloquinte),  motioned 
Lucien  to  the  cerberus  of  the  newspaper,  who  was 
behind  the  partition.  This  personage  was  an  old  officer 
wearing  a  decoration,  his  nose  enveloped  in  a  gray 
moustache,  a  black  silk  cap  on  his  head,  and  he  himself 
buried  in  an  ample  blue  overcoat,  like  a  tortoise  within 
its  shell. 

"  On  what  day  does  monsieur  wish  his  subscription 
to  begin?  "  asked  the  officer. 

*'  I  have  not  come  to  subscribe,"  replied  Lucien. 
The  poet  looked  at  the  door  opposite  to  the  one  by 
which  he  had  entered  and  read  the  words  :  "  Editorial 
Office,"  and  underneath  them  the  further  legend, 
"  The  public  not  admitted.'* 

"  A  remonstrance,  no  doubt,"  resumed  the  soldier  of 
Napoleon.  "  Well,  yes,  we  certainly  were  rather  hard 
on  Mariette,  —  I  don't  even  know  why  as  yet ;  but  if  3^ou 
want  satisfaction  I  am  ready,"  he  added,  glancing  at  a 
row  of  foils  and  pistols,  —  a  warlike  array  set  up,  like 
a  stand  of  arms,  in  a  corner. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  monsieur,"  said  Lucien.     "  I 
came  to  speak  to  the  editor-in-chief." 
' '  No  one  is  ever  here  till  four  o'clock." 
"  I  sa}',  old  Giroudeau,  I  've  done  eleven  columns  ;  a 
hundred  sous  apiece  makes  fifty-five  francs  ;  and  you  've 


Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,      109 

onh'  given  me  fort}- ;  therefore,  as  I  was  saying,  3-011 
still  owe  me  fifteen." 

These  words  came  from  a  pinched  little  face,  trans- 
parent as  the  half-boiled  white  of  an  egg,  lighted  by  a 
pair  of  blue  e3'es  that  were  terrifying  in  their  malig- 
nancy', —  a  face  belonging  to  a  thin  3'oung  man  hidden 
behind  the  opaque  bod}'  of  the  old  officer.  The  voice 
rasped  Lucien  ;  it  was  something  between  the  mewing 
of  cats  and  the  asthmatic  strangulation  of  h^'cnas. 

"  Yes,  3'es,  m}'  little  man,"  said  the  officer,  ''  but  3'ou 
are  counting  titles  and  blank  spaces,  and  I  have  Finot's 
orders  to  add  up  the  total  of  the  lines  and  divide  them 
b3'  the  number  required  for  each  column.  Having  per- 
formed that  constricting  operation  on  3'our  cop3'  I  make 
3'ou  out  three  columns  short." 

"  Does  n't  pa3^  for  blanks  !  the  Jew  !  —  but  he  counts 
them  to  his  partner  in  the  price  of  the  whole  edition. 
I  shall  go  and  see  Etienne  Lousteau,  Vernou  —  " 

"I  can't  disobey'  orders,  m3'  bo3',"  said  the  officer. 
''  What  nonsense  to  cr3^  out  against  3-our  wetnurse  for 
fifteen  francs,  — 3'ou  who  can  write  articles  as  easil3'  as 
I  can  smoke  a  cigar.  Treat  your  friends  to  one  less 
bowl  of  punch,  or  win  an  extra  game  of  billiards,  and 
that  will  square  you." 

"  Finot  is  making  savings  which  shall  cost  him  dear," 
said  the  journalist,  departing. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Lucien,  "  I  will  return  at  four 
o'clock." 

"  Bless  me,"  thought  the  cashier,  looking  at  Lucien  ; 
"  one  might  think  him  Rousseau  or  Voltaire." 

During  the  discussion,  Lucien,  standing  b3-,  had  no- 
ticed on  the  walls  portraits  of  Benjamin  Constant,  Gen- 


110       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

era!  Fov,  and  the  seventeen  illustrious  orators  of  the 
Liberal  part}',  mingled  with  various  caricatures  against 
the  government.  He  had  looked  with  special  interest 
at  the  door  of  the  sanctuar}',  where  the  witty  sheet  that 
amused  him  dail}'  and  enjoyed  the  right  of  ridiculing 
kings  and  solemn  events  and  of  turning  things  upside 
down  with  a  clever  saving,  was  elaborated. 

He  now  departed  to  saunter  along  the  boulevards, 
—  a  novel  pleasure,  but  so  attractive  that  the  hands 
of  the  clocks  in  the  watch-makers'  windows  pointed 
to  four  before  he  remembered  that  he  had  not  been  to 
breakfast.  Then  be  rapidly  retraced  his  steps  to  the 
rue  Saint-Fiacre,  ran  upstairs,  opened  the  door,  and 
found  no  one  but  the  one-armed  soldier,  sitting  on 
the  stamped  paper  and  eating  a  crust  of  bread ;  evi- 
dently on  sentr\'-duty  for  the  newspaper,  as  in  former 
days  in  barracks.  Seeing  him  thus  employed,  the  bold 
thought  occurred  to  Lucien  to  pass  this  war}'  sentinel. 
He  therefore  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  opened 
the  door  of  the  sanctuar}'  as  though  he  had  the  run  of 
the  house.  The  sacred  precincts  presented  to  his  eager 
eyes  a  round  table  covered  with  a  green  cloth,  and  six 
cherry-wood  chairs  with  straw  seats  that  were  still 
good.  The  brick  floor  had  been  colored  but  not  3'et 
polished ;  still  it  was  clean,  a  proof  that  the  public  did 
not  frequent  the  place.  On  the  fireplace  was  a  mirror, 
a  common  shop-clock  covered  with  dust,  two  candle- 
sticks with  two  tallow  candles  crookedl}'  stuck  into 
them,  and  a  few  scattered  visitincf-cards.  On  the  table 
lay  a  heap  of  old  newspapers  round  an  inkstand 
adorned  with  crowquills,  on  which  dried  inkspots  looked 
like  lacquer.     There,  too,  he  saw  a  number  of  articles 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       Ill 

written  in  an  illegible  almost  hieroglyphic  hand,  torn 
across  the  top  b}-  the  compositors  in  the  printing-room, 
a  sign  b}'  which  to  know  the  pages  already  set  up. 
Here  and  there  Lucien  saw  and  admired  certain  clever 
caricatures  drawn  on  wrapping-paper,  no  doubt  by  per- 
sons who  were  trying  to  kill  time  b}'  killing  anything 
else  that  came  to  hand.  On  a  sheet  of  pale-green 
paper  were  pinned  nine  pen-and-ink  drawings  ridiculing 
*'  The  Solitary."  —  a  book  then  much  in  vosfue  through- 
out  Europe.  On  the  margin  of  a  newspaper  Lucien 
perceived  a  drawing  signed  b}'  a  name  that  was  after- 
wards to  become  famous  but  never  illustrious,  repre- 
senting a  journalist  holding  out  his  hat,  and  underneath 
was  written  :  "  Finot,  my  hundred  francs?  "  Between 
the  fireplace  and  the  window  was  a  tall  desk,  a  ma- 
hogany arm-chair,  a  waste-paper  basket,  and  a  long 
rug,  all  covered  with  a  thick  layer  of  dust.  The  win- 
dows had  small  curtains.  On  the  top  of  the  desk  la}' 
about  twent}'  books,  engravings,  sheets  of  music,  snuff- 
boxes a  la  Charte,  the  ninth  edition  of  "  The  Solitary," 
(the  current  joke  of  the  day)  and  a  dozen  sealed 
letters. 

When  Lucien  had  taken  an  inventor}'  of  this  queer 
furniture  and  made  his  reflections  upon  it,  he  went  back 
to  the  one-armed  soldier,  intending  to  question  him. 
Coloquinte  had  finished  his  crust  and  was  waiting  with 
the  patience  of  a  sentinel  for  the  return  of  the  old 
oflScer,  who  was  perhaps  taking  a  walk  on  the  boulevard. 
Just  then  a  woman  appeared  in  the  doorway,  having 
announced  her  cominoj  bv  the  rustle  of  a  dress  on  the 
stairwa}'  and  the  light  feminine  footfall  so  easily  recog- 
nized.    She  was  rather  prett}-. 


112       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said  to  Lucien,  "  I  know  why  ^'ou 
praise  those  bonnets  of  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  and  I 
have  come  to  subscribe  for  a  year ;  but  tell  me  first 
what  conditions  she  makes/'' 

"  Madame,"  replied  Lucien,  "  I  do  not  belong  to  this 


?j 


newspaper 

"  Ah  I  " 

'^  Do  ,you  subscribe  from  this  date  ? ''  inquired  the 
one-armed  man. 

"What  may  madame  want?"  said  the  old  officer 
reappearing. 

The  handsome  milliner  turned  to  him  and  they  had 
a  conference.  When  Lucien,  growing  impatient,  re- 
entered the  front  room  he  heard  their  final  words :  — 

"I  shall  be  dehghted,  monsieur;  Mademoiselle 
Florentine  may  come  to  my  shop  and  choose  what  she 
likes.  I  keep  ribbons.  So  it  is  all  understood,  is  n't  it? 
You  are  not  to  sa}'  anything  more  about  Mademoiselle 
Virginie,  —  a  bungler  !  incapable  of  producing  a  shape  ! 
whereas  I  am  really  an  inventor." 

Here  Lucien  heard  the  jingle  of  coins  as  thej-  fell  into 
a  drawer ;  then  the  officer  sat  down  to  make  up  his 
daily  accounts. 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  been  here  over  an  hour,"  said  the 
poet,  somewhat  displeased. 

"  They  have  n't  come,"  said  the  Napoleonic  veteran, 
manifesting  a  polite  regret.  "  I  am  not  surprised.  It 
is  some  time  since  I  have  seen  them.  It  is  the  middle 
of  the  month,  and  they  onl}'  come,  those  fellows,  about 
pay-day,  —  the  29th  or  30th." 

"  But  Monsieur  Finot?  "  said  Lucien,  who  now  knew 
the  name  of  the  editor-in-chief. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  iyi  Paris,        113 

"  He  is  at  home,  rue  Feydeau.  Coloquintej  old  man, 
take  him  all  that  has  come  in  to-day  when  you  carry 
the  paper  to  the  printing-office." 

''  Where  is  the  work  of  the  newspaper  realh'  done  ?  " 
said  Lucien,    as  if  speaking  to  himself. 

"The  newspaper?"  said  the  officer,  "the  news- 
paper?—  broum  !  broum  !  Look  here,  old  man,  be 
at  the  printing-office  to-morrow  at  six,  and  keep  some 
order  among  the  newsboys,  will  you?  The  work  of 
the  newspaper,  monsieur,  is  done  in  the  streets,  in  the 
writers'  houses,  in  the  printing-room  between  eleven 
and  twelve  o'clock  at  night.  In  the  old  days  of  the 
Emperor,  monsieur,  these  shops  for  wasting  paper 
did  n't  exist.  Ha !  he  'd  have  cleared  them  out  with 
a  corporal's  guard;  he'd  never  have  let  'em  gibe  him, 
like  ceux-ci.  Ah,  well,  no  use  talking  !  If  m}-  nephew 
finds  it  profitable  to  write  for  the  son  of  T autre  —  broum  ! 
broum  !  wiiat  matter  ?  where 's  the  harm  ?  However, 
to-day  subscribers  don't  seem  to  be  coming  in  a  solid 
phalanx,  so  I  shall  shut  up  and  depart." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Lucien,  "  3'ou  seem  to  me  to  be 
well-inforrhed  as  to  the  editing  of  a  newspaper?" 

"Under  its  financial  aspect,  broum!  broum!"  said 
the  old  officer,  disposing  of  the  phlegm  that  was  in  his 
throat.  "  According  to  talent,  five  or  three  francs  a 
column,  fifty  lines  of  forty  letters,  no  blanks,  —  that 's 
what  I  know.  As  for  the  editors  and  reporters,  thej^ 
are  queer  scamps,  fellows  I  would  n't  have  kept  in  my 
troop ;  3'oung  fools  who  because  they  can  dabble  ink 
over  paper  affect  to  despise  an  old  captain  of  the  Im- 
perial guard,  a  brevet  major,  who  entered  every  capital 
of  Europe  with  Napoleon." 

8 


114      Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

Lucien,  feeling  himself  elbowed  towards  the  door  by 
the  soldier  of  Napoleon,  who  was  all  the  while  brushing 
his  blue  coat  with  the  manifest  intention  of  leaving  the 
place,  had  the  courage  to  make  a  stand. 

"  I  have  come  to  be  a  writer  on  the  paper,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  assure  3"ou  I  have  the  deepest  respect  for  the 
captains  of  the  Imperial  guard,  those  men  of  iron." 

"  Well  said,  my  little  civilian,"  cried  the  officer, 
poking  Lucien  in  the  ribs.  "  But  what  class  of  writer 
do  you  want  to  be  ?  "  continued  the  old  veteran,  slipping 
past  Lucien  and  down  the  stairs  to  the  porter's  lodge, 
where  he  stopped  to  light  his  cigar.  "  If  any  sub- 
scribers come,  Mere  Chollet,  take  the  money  and  make 
a  note  of  it.  Subscriptions  !  always  subscriptions  ;  I 
know  nothing  else,"  he  said,  turning  to  Lucien  who  had 
followed  him.  "  Finot  is  m}^  nephew,  —  the  only  one  of 
ray  familj'  who  has  done  an3'thing  to  help  me.  There- 
fore, whoever  quarrels  with  Finot  will  have  to  do  with 
old  Giroudeau,  captain  of  the  dragoons  of  the  Guard, 
once  a  plain  trooper  in  the  army  of  the  Sambre-et-Meuse, 
five  3'ears  fencing-master  to  the  First  Huzzars,  Arm}'  of 
Italy.  One  —  two  —  and  the  grumbler  is  in  Hades  ! "  he 
added,  making  a  pass.  "  Now,  m}*  little  man,  we  have 
different  sorts  of  editors  and  reporters :  there's  the  edi- 
tor who  edits  and  gets  his  pay  ;  and  the  editor  who  edits 
and  does  n't  get  any  pa}',  —  we  call  him  the  volunteer  ; 
and  besides  these,  there 's  the  editor  who  does  n't  edit 
(lucky  for  him,  for  he  can't  make  blunders)  ;  this  kind 
writes,  he  's  a  journalist,  he  invites  us  to  dinner,  he 
hangs  about  the  theatres,  keeps  an  actress,  and  makes 
himself  happ}-.     Which  khid  do  3-ou  want  to  be?  " 

"  Wh}',  the  writer  who  is  well  paid." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,       115 

"  Yes,  yon  are  like  all  recruits,  who  want  to  be  mar- 
shals of  France.  Now,  you  take  the  advice  of  old 
Giroudeau, — to  the  right  about,  march!  better  pick 
rags  in  the  gutter  for  a  living.  There 's  that  3'oung 
fellow  you  saw  this  morning ;  he  has  earned  only  fort}' 
francs  this  month,  and  Finot  thinks  him  the  wittiest 
man  on  the  staff;  will  you  do  any  better?  " 

*' When  you  enlisted  in  the  Sambre-et-Meuse  did  no 
one  warn  you  of  danger?" 

"Of  course  they  did." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  Very  good  ;  then  go  and  see  my  nephew  Finot,  a 
good  fellow,  the  best  of  fellows  if  you  can  catch  him, 
but  sHppery  as  an  eel ;  alwaj's  on  the  go.  His  business, 
you  see,  is  not  to  write,  but  to  make  others  wa-ite,  and 
it  seems  to  me  his  troopers  would  rather  be  dangling 
after  actresses  than  blotting  paper.  Oh,  3'es,  as  I  sa}', 
the}^  are  a  queer  lot !  I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you 
good-day." 

So  saying  the  veteran  twirled  a  formidable  leaded 
cane,  a  weapon  worthy  of  Germanicus,  and  left  Lucien 
standing  on  the  boulevard  as  stupefied  by  this  presenta- 
tion of  journalism  as  he  had  been  by  the  definite  results 
of  literature  brought  to  his  knowledge  at  Vidal  and 
Porchon's. 

Ten  times  did  Lucien  call  on  Andoche  Finot,  editor- 
in-chief,  at  his  house  in  the  rue  Fe^'deau,  without 
finding  him.  If  it  was  earh'  morning  Finot  had  not 
come  home  ;  at  mid-da}'  Finot  was  out,  breakfasting,  it 
was  said,  at  a  certain  cafe.  At  the  cafe,  whither 
Lucien  betook  himself  to  inquire  for  the  editor  with 
extreme  reluctance,  Finot  had  just  departed.     Finally, 


116       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

worn-out  and  disheartened,  Lucien  began  to  regard 
Finot  as  an  apocrjphal,  even  fabulous  personage  ;  and 
he  thought  his  best  chance  la^^  in  watching  for  Etienne 
Lousteau  at  Flicoteaux's.  That  3'oung  journalist  might 
be  able  to  explain  to  him  the  mastery  which  seemed  to 
hang  about  the  paper  on  which  he  was  emploj'ed. 

Since  the  day,  the  blessed  day,  when  Lucien  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Daniel  d'Arthez  he  had 
changed  his  seat  at  Flicoteaux's  ;  the  two  friends  dined 
together  side  by  side,  talking  in  a  low  voice  of  litera- 
ture, of  subjects  to  take  up,  of  methods  of  treatment 
and  development.  At  this  particular  time  Daniel 
d'Arthez  was  correcting  the  revised  manuscript  of 
"The  Archer  of  Charles  IX. ;  "  he  had  even  written 
some  of  the  finest  pages,  and  a  noble  preface,  which 
does  in  fact  excel  the  book,  and  throws  a  strong  light 
on  the  dawning  literature  of  the  da}'. 

One  afternoon,  just  as  Lucien  was  about  to  sit  down 
in  his  usual  place  by  Daniel,  who  had  waited  for  him, 
he  saw  Etienne  Lousteau  in  the  doorway.  Instantly  he 
let  go  Daniel's  hand  which  he  had  taken,  and  told  the 
waiter  he  would  dine  in  his  former  place  near  the  coynp- 
toir.  D'Arthez  gave  Lucien  one  of  those  angelic 
looks  in  which  forgiveness  mingled  with  reproach,  and 
so  touched  the  poet's  heart  that  he  cauglit  up  Daniel's 
hand  once  more  and  pressed  it. 

"  It  is  on  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  me  ;  I  will 
tell  3'ou  about  it  later,"  he  said. 

Lucien  had  taken  his  old  place  by  the  time  Lousteau 
was  in  his.  He  was  the  first  to  bow  and  open  the  con- 
versation, which  made  such  rapid  strides  that  before 
Lousteau  finished  his  dinner  Lucien  had  gone  to  his 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      117 

lodgings  to  fetch  the  manuscript  of  the  "Daisies." 
The  journalist  had  consented  to  listen  to  the  sonnets^ 
and  Lucien  relied  upon  that  outward  show  of  cordiality 
to  obtain  a  footing  on  the  newspaper,  and  perhaps  a 
publisher.  As  he  returned,  he  noticed  the  sad  look 
which  Daniel,  sittmg  with  his  head  in  his  hand,  gave 
him ;  but,  weary  of  povert}^  and  lashed  by  ambition, 
he  pretended  not  to  see  his  true  friend,  and  followed 
Lousteau. 

It  was  towards  evening,  and  the  pair,  the  journalist 
and  the  neophyte,  seated  themselves  under  the  trees  in 
that  part  of  the  Luxembourg  which  lies  between  the 
avenue  of  the  Observatoire  and  the  rue  de  I'Ouest.  The 
latter  was  then  a  long,  mudd}^  road  beside  a  marsh,  and 
so  little  frequented  that  during  the  Parisian  dinner- 
hour  two  lovers  might  safely  quarrel  there  and  kiss  and 
make  up  without  fear  of  being  seen.  The  onl}'  person 
likely  to  see  them  was  the  veteran  on  guard  at  the  gate 
of  the  gardens  on  the  rue  de  I'Ouest,  if  he  took  it  into 
his  head  to  lengthen  his  monotonous  beat  by  a  few 
rods. 

Here  it  was  that  the  two  young  men  established 
themselves  on  a  wooden  bench  between  two  lindens, 
and  Etienne  listened  to  certain  sonnets  which  Lucien 
selected  as  specimens  of  his  "  Daisies." 


118       Great  Man  of  the  Provifices  in  Paris, 


VIII. 

THE    SONNETS. 

i^TiENNE  Lousteau,  who  now  had,  after  two  years'  ap- 
prenticeship, his  foot  in  the  stirrup  of  journaUsm,  and 
who  counted  among  his  friends  several  of  the  celebrities 
of  the  da}^  was  an  imposing  personage  in  Lucien's  eyes. 
(I!onsequently,  as  he  unrolled  the  precious  manuscript 
of  his  "  Daisies,"  he  deemed  it  wise  to  make  a  sort  of 
preamble  to  the  reading  of  them. 

"The  sonnet,  monsieur,"  he  said  "  is  one  of  the 
most  difficult  forms  of  poesy  ;  in  fact,  it  has  been  gener- 
ally abandoned.  No  one  in  France  has  ever  rivalled 
Petrarch,  whose  language,  infinitely  more  supple  than 
ours,  admits  of  a  play  of  thought  which  our  positivism 
(forgive  the  word)  rejects.  I  have  therefore  thought  it 
original  to  make  m}'  debut  by  a  collection  of  sonnets. 
Victor  Hugo  chose  the  ode  ;  Canalis  prefers  more  fugi- 
tive verse ;  Beranger  has  monopolized  song ;  Casimir 
Delavigne,  tragedy  ;  and  Lamartine,  meditation." 

"Are  you  a  classicist  or  a  romanticist?"  asked 
Lousteau. 

Lucien's  puzzled  expression  denoted  such  absolute 
ignorance  of  the  then  state  of  things  in  the  republic  of 
letters  that  Lousteau  thought  it  best  to  enlighten  him. 

"  Mv  dear  fellow,  vou  have  come  into  the  thick  of  a 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      119 

desperate  fight,  and  3'ou  must  immediately  choose  3'our 
side.  Literature  is,  of  course,  separated  into  several 
zones ;  but  our  great  men  are  divided  into  two  hostile 
camps.  The  Ko^'alists  are  the  romanticists  ;  the  Lib- 
erals are  the  classicists.  This  divergence  of  literary 
opinions  is  connected  in  a  wa}'  with  the  divergences  of 
political  opniion ;  consequentl}^  there  is  war  to  the 
death  with  all  weapons,  ink  in  torrents,  wit  with  sharp- 
ened blade,  calumny  ground  to  a  point,  nicknames  fly- 
ing between  the  rising  lights  and  the  setting  ones,  — 
coming  fame,  and  dead  glory.  By  a  singular  oddit}'  the 
Royalist  romanticists  demand  literary  liberty  and  the 
revocation  of  the  laws  which  give  conventional  forms 
to  literature  ;  whereas  the  Liberals  want  to  maintain  the 
unities,  the  swing  of  the  alexandrine,  and  the  classic 
tradition.  Literary  opinions  are  therefore  out  of  har- 
mony in  each  camp  with  the  political  opinions  of  its 
own  side.  If  you  are  eclectic  3^ou  will  have  no  one 
with  you.     Which  side  will  you  take?  " 

"  Which  side  is  the  stronger  ?'' 

"The  liberal  journals  have  many  more  subscribers 
than  the  royalist  and  ministerial  journals ;  neverthe- 
less, Canalis  succeeds,  though  he  is  monarchical  and 
religious  and  protected  b}'  court  and  clerg}'.  But  son- 
nets !  pooh,  that's  literature  before  the  da3's  of  Boi- 
leau,"  said  Etienne,  seeing  that  Lucien  was  frightened 
at  the  idea  of  having  to  choose  between  two  banners. 
"  Be  a  romanticist.  The  romanticists  are  3'oung  men, 
the  classicists  old  fogies  ;  the  romanticists  are  certain  to 
carry  the  da3\     Now,  read  on." 

"Easter  Daisies!"  read  Lucien,  choosing  the  first 
of  the  two  sonnets  which  gave  the  title  to  the  book. 


120       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

O  Easter-daisy,  your  harmonious  tints 
Are  not  contrived  to  dazzle  wearied  eyes, 
But  to  our  souls  they  speak,  in  half-veiled  hints, 
That  sound  the  dej)ths  of  human  sympathies. 
Do  not  y'our  gold  and  silver  symbolize 
The  treasures  that  we  strive  so  hard  to  gain  ? 
Is  not  our  life-blood,  given  to  win  the  prize, 
Shown  in  yoiu'  petals  with  the  crimson  stain  i 
Is  it  because  your  tiny  flowers  were  born 
When  Christ,  arisen,  on  that  Easter  morn 
Cast  love  and  blessing  o'er  the  sleeping  earth. 
That  now,  when  autumn  days  are  chill  and  drear. 
You  still  recall  the  season  of  your  birth. 
With  happy  hours  long  past,  yet  doubly  dear  ? 

Lucieii  was  piqued  by  Lousteau's  absolute  immova- 
bility as  he  listened  to  the  reading ;  he  knew  nothing 
as  yet  of  the  disconcerting  impassibility  which  comes 
of  the  habit  of  criticism,  —  a  distinguishing  mark  of 
journalists  wearied  with  prose  and  verse  and  drama. 
The  poet,  accustomed  to  applause,  swallowed  his  disap- 
pointment, and  read  the  sonnet  preferred  by  Madame 
de  Bargeton  and  by  some  of  his  friends  among  the 
brotherhood. 

"  Perhaps  this  will  force  some  expression  from  him,'* 


thought  he. 


The   Daisy. 


My  name  is  Margarita,  fairest  flower 
That  star-like  shines  on  many  a  verdant  lawn  ; 
And  once,  in  peace  and  joy,  each  rosy  dawn 
Beheld  me  opening  to  the  sun  or  shower. 
But  now,  alas !  a  strange  and  unknown  power 
Consumes  my  life.     Love  questions,  I  reply. 
Unsought,  to  me  was  given  a  mortal  dower  r 


Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      121 

I  read  the  book  of  Fate,  and  reading,  die. 
No  more  for  me  are  silence  and  repose  ; 
My  heart  is  plucked  by  lovers  in  despair. 
To  find  if,  haply,  love  itself  be  there  ; 
And  as  the  deep-hid  secret  I  disclose 
I  die,  robbed  of  my  white-rayed  coronet,  — 
The  only  flower  flung  down  without  regret ! 

When  he  had  finished  reading  the  poet  looked  at 
his  Aristarehiis.  Etienne  Lousteau  was  attentivel}' 
observing  the  trees  of  the  adjoining  nurser}'. 

''  Well?  "  said  Lucien. 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,  go  on!  I'm  listening. 
Listening  without  saying  a  word  is  praise  in  Paris." 

"  Have  3'ou  had  enough?  "  asked  Lucien. 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  journalist,  rather  roughl}'. 

Lucien  read  the  following  sonnet ;  but  he  did  it  with 
death  in  his  heart,  for  Lousteau's  impenetrable  coolness 
froze  him.  Had  he  been  a  little  farther  advanced  in  his 
literary  career  he  would  have  known  that  the  silence  or 
roughness  of  authors  under  such  circumstances  betrays 
their  jealousy  at  a  fine  work ;  just  as  their  admiration 
proves  the  pleasure  they  feel  at  a  gommonplace  thing 
which  reassures  their  vanity. 

The    Camellia. 

In  Nature's  poem  flowers  have  each  their  word  *. 
The  rose  of  love  and  beauty  sings  alone ; 
The  violet's  soul  exhales  in  tenderest  tone  ; 
The  lily's  one  pure  simple  note  is  heard. 
The  cold  Camellia  only,  stiff  and  white, 
Rose  without  perf  mne,  lily  without  grace, 
When  chilling  winter  shows  his  icy  face, 


122       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Blooms  for  a  world  that  vainly  seeks  delight. 
Yet,  in  a  theatre,  or  ball-room  light. 
With  alabaster  petals  opening  fair, 
I  gladly  see  Camellias  shining  bright 
Above  some  stately  w man's  raven  hair, 
Whose  noble  form  fulfils  the  heart's  desire. 
Like  Grecian  marbles  warmed  by  Phidian  fire. 

"What  do  3'ou  think  of  ni}^  poor  sonnets?"  asked 
Lucien,  resolutely. 

"  Do  you  wish  the  truth?"  said  Lousteau. 

"  I  am  3'oung  enough  to  love  it,  and  I  am  so  anxious 
to  succeed  that  I  can  hear  it  without  anger  —  but  not, 
perhaps,  without  despair,"  replied  Lucien. 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  the  involved  st3'le  of  the  first 
shows  work  done  in  Angouleme,  which  no  doubt  cost 
you  so  much  trouble  that  3'ou  can't  bear  to  give  it  up  ; 
the  second  and  the  third  certainl}^  have  a  Parisian  tone  ; 
but  read  me  another,"  added  Lousteau,  with  a  gesture 
which  seemed  perfectly  charming  to  the  great  man  of 
the  provinces. 

Encouraged  by  the  invitation,  Lucien  proceeded  to 
read,  with  more  confidence  than  he  had  yet  felt,  the 
sonnet  which  d'Arth^z  and  Joseph  Bridau  preferred, 
perhaps  on  account  of  its  color :  — 

The    Tulip. 

I  am  the  Tulip  ;  from  the  Hague  I  came ; 
So  fair  am  I  that  e'en  the  thrifty  Dutch 
Esteem  this  precious  bulb  of  mine  as  much 
As  costly  diamonds ;  such  is  beauty's  fame ! 
I  have  a  feudal  air ;  like  some  proud  dame 
Li  ample  kirtle  stiff  and  farthingale, 
I  bear,  emblazoned,  gules  on  argent  pale 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      128 

Upon  my  robes,  or  purple  barred  with  flame, 
Woven  of  sun-rays  and  the  royal  dye  ; 
The  colors  of  heaven  tell  my  Maker's  name. 
No  garden  flower  with  me  can  hope  to  vie 
In  splendid  vesture  or  in  gorgeous  bloom ; 
But  in  my  vase-like  chalice  broad  and  high. 
Ungenerous  Nature  poured  no  rich  perfume. 

"  Well?  "  said  Lucien,  after  a  moment's  silence,  which 
seemed  to  him  of  interminable  length. 

"  M}'  dear  fellow,"  said  Etienne  Lousteau,  gravel}', 
looking  down  at  the  boots  which  Lucien  had  brought 
from  Angouleme,  and  wdiich  were  now  pretty  nearlj' 
w^orn-out,  "  I  advise  yon  to  black  3'our  boots  with  3'our 
ink  and  save  3'Our  blacking ;  make  tooth-picks  of  3"0iir 
pens  to  look  as  if  you  had  been  dining,  and  find  some 
situation  where  3'ou  can  earn  a  living.  Be  a  sheriff's 
clerk  if  you  have  the  nerve,  or  a  shop-bo3'  if  there  's 
strength  enough  in  3'Our  loins,  or  a  soldier  if  3'ou  love  a 
bass-drum.  You  have  got  the  stuff  of  three  poets,  but 
before  3'ou  succeed  you  '11  die  six  times  of  hunger  if 
you  intend  to  live  on  the  proceeds  of  3'our  poems.  I 
gather  from  3'our  rather  juvenile  discourse  that  you  ex- 
pect to  coin  mone3'  out  of  3'our  inkstand.  Now  mark, 
I  'm  not  judging  3-our  sonnets,  which  are  far  superior  to 
the  poetr3'  which  is  choking  up  the  shops  of  the  book- 
sellers. Those  elegant  nightingales  (which  sell  for 
more  than  other  people's  poems  because  of  the  superfine 
paper  on  which  they  are  printed)  all  come  to  an  end 
over  here  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  where  3'ou  can 
stud3^  their  song  if  you  choose  to  make  an  instructive 
pilgrimage  along  the  quays  from  old  Jerome's  booth  to 
the   Pont   Notre-Dame   and   the   Pont-Royal.     You  'II 


124      Cfreat  Man  of  the  Pro'vinces  in  Paris. 

encounter  on  that  short  trip  the  Poetical  Essa3'S,  Inspi- 
rations, Exaltations,  H^-mns,  Songs,  Ballads,  Odes,  — 
in  short,  all  the  coveys  hatched  for  the  last  seven  3'ears  ; 
muses  thick  with  dust,  splashed  b}^  the  hackney-coaches, 
and  rudel}^  fingered  bj^  the  quay  loungers  who  look  for 
the  illustrations.  You  say  3'ou  don't  know  any  one  in 
Paris ;  3'ou  have  no  access  to  a  newspaper.  Your 
'  Daisies  '  will  sta}'  chastel}"  folded  as  they  are  ;  the}-  '11 
never  blossom  to  the  world  in  the  glor}'  of  broad  mar- 
gins and  adorned  with  arabesques  and  tail-pieces  such 
as  the  great  Dauriat,  that  pubhsher  of  celebrities,  that 
king  of  the  Galeries  de  Bois,  lavishes.  My  poor  bo}", 
I  came  to  Paris  like  you  with  my  soul  full  of  illusions, 
prompted  b}'  the  love  of  Art,  led  by  an  unconquerable 
impulse  to  seek  fame.  I  learned  the  realities  of  that 
career,  the  struggles  for  publication,  the  practical  side 
of  poverty.  My  ardor,  long  since  repressed,  my  first 
enthusiasm,  concealed  the  mechanism  of  the  world  ;  I 
had  to  discover  it  for  myself;  I  had  to  butt  against  its 
machiner}',  to  be  nipped  in  its  hinges,  to  be  greased 
with  its  oil,  and  to  hear  the  clanking  of  its  chains  and 
fl}'- wheels.  You  are  going  to  see,  as  I  saw,  under  all 
the  beautiful  things  of  which  we  dreamed,  how  men 
behave  from  passions  and  necessities.  You  will  be 
forced  to  share  in  dreadful  struggles,  man  against  man, 
work  against  work,  part}'  against  part}^  in  which  you 
must  fight  S3'stematically  or  you  will  go  under.  Such 
unworthy  struggles  disenchant  the  soul,  deprave  the 
heart,  and  wear  it  out  to  its  own  loss  ;  for  your  efforts 
will  often  end  in  crowning  your  rival  whom  you  hate, 
some  commonplace  talent  called,  in  spite  of  you,  a  genius. 
Literary  life  is  like  the  stage.     Success,  snatched   or 


Great  Man  of  the  Pi'ovinces  in  Paris.      126 

merited,  is  applauded  by  the  audience  ;  the  ugliness  be- 
hind the  scenes,  the  supernumeraries,  the  claqueurs,  the 
scene-shifters,  the3-  make  the  play.  My  dear  fellow,  you 
are  now  among  the  audience.  There  is  still  time  ;  give 
up  the  career  before  you  put  your  foot  on  the  first  step 
of  the  throne  for  which  so  many  ambitions  are  fighting, 
and  don't  dishonor  yourself,  as  I  am  doing,  to  live " 
(a  tear  moistened  Etienne  Lousteau's  eyes).  "  Do  you 
know  how  I  live?"  he  continued,  in  a  savage  tone. 
"  The  little  money  my  family  could  give  me  was  soon 
spent.  I  was  utterly  without  resources  when  I  got  a 
play  accepted  at  the  Theatre-Fran^ais.  At  the  Theatre- 
Fran(;ais  the  protection  of  a  prince  or  the  first  Gentle- 
man of  the  Bedchamber  is  not  sufficient  to  secure  the 
playing  of  an  accepted  piece  ;  the  comedians  will  only 
play  the  plays  of  those  who  have  some  means  of 
injuring  their  self-love.  If  you  have  power  to  get  it 
said  that  the  leading  gentleman  wheezes,  or  the  leading 
lady  has  an  ulcer,  no  matter  where,  or  that  the  sou- 
brette's  breath  is  vile,  your  play  will  be  acted  to-morrow. 
I  don't  know  whether  in  two  years  from  now  I  shall 
have  that  power,  —  it  takes  too  many  friends.  Mean- 
time, how  and  where  was  I  to  earn  my  bread  ?  that  was 
the  question  I  had  to  answer  when  hunger  seized  me. 
After  many  attempts,  such  as  writing  a  novel  which 
Doguereau  bought  for  two  hundred  francs  (and  he  did 
not  make  much  out  of  it  either),  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  journalism  alone  would  support  me.  But  how 
could  I  get  into  it?  I  won't  tell  you  now  all  my  useless 
efforts  and  entreaties,  nor  the  six  dreadful  months  I 
spent,  working  like  a  galley-slave  only  to  be  told  that  I 
frightened   oflf  subscribers,  when  in  fact  I  was  really 


126       Great  Man  of  the  Provmees  m  Paris, 

educating  them,  — I  pass  over  such  affronts.  At  the 
present  time  I  am  writing  the  dramatic  articles  on  the 
boulevard  theatres,  almost  for  nothing,  in  a  journal 
which  belongs  to  Finot,  that  fat  fellow  who  breakfasts 
once  or  twice  a  month  at  the  Cafe  Voltaire  —  but  30U 
don't  go  there  !  Finot  is  the  editor-in-chief.  I  live  by 
selling  the  tickets  which  the  managers  of  the  theatres 
give  me  to  pa}^  for  my  good  word,  and  the  books  the 
publishers  send  me,  which  I  review.  Besides  this  I 
traffic,  after  satisfying  Finot,  in  a  variet}-  of  tributes 
made  to  me  b}-  tradesmen  for  or  against  whom  he  lets 
me  write  articles.  '  Paste  of  Sultans/  '  Cephalic  Oil,' 
'  Brazilian  Mixture  '  will  all  pay  twenty  or  thirty  francs 
for  a  puff.  I  am  ol3liged  to  bark  at  publishers  who 
don't  send  copies  enough  to  the  paper  ;  Finot  keeps  two 
and  sells  them,  and  I  want  two  to  sell.  If  a  book  is 
likely  to  sell  well  and  the  publisher  is  stingy  he  gets 
pommelled.  I  know  it  is  base  ;  but  I  live  by  it,  and  so 
do  a  hundred  others.  Don't  think,  either,  that  the 
political  world  is  a  bit  better  than  the  literary  world  ; 
it  is  all  corruption  in  both ;  every  man  is  either  cor- 
rupted or  corrupting.  When  a  publisher  has  some  new 
and  rather  important  enterprise  on  hand  he  pays  me  for 
fear  I  shall  attack  him.  My  revenues  are  always  in 
proportion  to  the  prospectuses.  When  there  are  fine 
lists  going  among  the  trade  my  pocket  jingles,  and  I 
invite  my  friends  to  dinner ;  when  trade  is  dull  I  dine 
at  Flicoteaux's.  Actresses  pay  for  puf!s,  but  the  clev- 
erest of  them  want  criticism  ;  silence  is  what  they  are 
most  afraid  of.  Consequently  a  criticism,  so  written 
that  you  can  revoke  it  later,  pays  better  than  mere 
praise,  which  is  forgotten  the  next  day.     Controversy, 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      127 

m}'  dear  fellow,  controversy  is  the  pedestal  of  celebrity. 
By  this  fine  trade,  as  hired  assassin  of  ideas  and  reputa- 
tions, industrial,  literarj',  and  dramatic,  I  make,  say,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  francs  a  month ;  I  can  manage  to  sell 
a  novel  for  five  hundred  francs,  and  I  am  beginning  to 
be  thought  a  dangerous  man,  a  man  to  propitiate. 
When,  instead  of  living  with  Florine  at  the  cost  of  a 
druggist  who  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a  lord,  I  live  in 
my  own  house  and  get  upon  one  of  the  great  papers 
and  have  2l  feuilleton,  —  on  that  day,  my  good  fellow, 
Florine  will  become  a  great  actress.  As  for  me,  I  don't 
know  what  I  '11  then  become  :  minister  or  honest  man, 
all  is  still  possible."  (He  raised  his  humiliated  face 
and  cast  a  terrible  look  of  despairing  reproach  towards 
the  trees.)  "  And  yet  I  have  a  tragedy  accepted  at  the 
Frangais  !  I  have  among  mj'  papers  a  noble  poem  that 
will  die  there  !  I  once  was  good  !  my  heart  was  pure  ! 
and  now  I  live  with  an  actress  of  the  Panorama- 
Dramatique,  —  I,  who  dreamed  of  noble  loves  among 
the  best  of  women !  But,  worst  of  all,  if  a  publisher 
refuses  a  book  to  my  paper,  I  say  harm  of  a  work  I 
think  beautiful !  " 

Lucien,  moved  to  tears,  seized  feienne's  hand. 

"  Outside  of  the  literary  world,"  continued  the  journal- 
ist, rising  and  going  towards  the  Avenue  de  I'Observa- 
toire,  where  the  two  poets  walked  up  and  down  as  if  to 
get  more  air  into  their  lungs,  "there  is  not  a  single 
person  who  even  suspects  the  horrible  od3'ssey  through 
which  we  must  pass  to  reach  what  is  called,  according 
to  merit,  vogue,  fashion,  reputation,  distinction,  celeb- 
rity, public  favor,  —  the  rounds  of  the  ladder  which  lead 
to  fame,  but  can  never  take  its  place.     Fame,  that  bril- 


128       Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

liant  moral  phenomenon,  is  made  up  of  a  thousand 
incidents  which  vary  with  such  rapidit}'  that  no  two 
men  ever  reached  it  b}'  the  same  path.  Canalis  and 
Nathan,  two  men  who  are  now  attaining  it,  are  two 
dissimilar  facts,  neither  of  whom  can  be  reproduced. 
D'Arthez,  who  is  wearing  himself  out  with  toil,  will 
come  to  fame  through  some  mere  accident.  A  long-de- 
sired reputation  is  almost  alwajs  like  a  prostitute.  Yes, 
literature  in  its  low  estate  is  like  some  wretched  girl 
shivering  in  the  street ;  its  secondar}-  phase,  as  it  issues 
from  the  baser  regions  of  journalism,  in  which  I  now 
am,  is  that  of  a  kept  mistress  ;  but  literature  success- 
ful, fortunate,  is  a  brilliant,  insolent  courtesan,  pa3S 
taxes  to  the  state,  receives  the  great  lords,  treats,  or 
ill-treats  them,  has  its  liver}',  its  equipage,  and  can 
keep  its  hungry  creditors  waiting  its  convenience.  Ah  ! 
those  to  whom  it  seemed  —  to  me  formerly,  to  you  now, 
—  an  angel  with  radiant  wings,  draped  in  a  spotless  tunic, 
a  palm  in  one  hand,  a  flaming  sword  in  the  other,  partly 
a  mj'thical  abstraction  living  at  the  bottom  of  a  well, 
parti}'  a  noble  being  attaining  riches  only  through  the 
lights  of  virtue  and  the  efforts  of  a  glorious  courage,  — 
what  becomes  of  us  when  we  find  it  soiled,  trampled, 
violated,  thrust  into  the  mud  ?  There  are  men  of  iron 
brains  whose  hearts  are  still  warm  under  the  snows  of 
experience,  but  the}'  are  rare,  rare  in  that  Paris  j^ou  see 
before  3'ou,"  he  cried,  pointing  to  the  great  city  as  it  laj- 
seething  in  the  sunset. 

A  vision  of  the  brotherhood  passed  rapidly  through 
Lucien's  mind  and  stirred  it ;  but  a  moment  more,  and 
Lousteau,  continuing  his  dreadful  lamentation,  forced 
him  away  from  all  such  thoughts. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      129 

"  Yes,  they  are  rare  and  far  between  in  that  great 
vat  fermenting  there  ;  rare  as  true  lovers  in  the  world 
of  love  ;  rare  as  honest  fortunes  in  the  world  of  mone}- ; 
rare  as  pure  and  decent  men  in  journalism.  The  ex- 
perience of  the  man  who  once  told  me  what  I  am  telhng 
3'ou  was  wasted,  as  mine  no  doubt  is  wasted  now  on 
^'ou.  The  provinces  send  us  yearly  the  same  if  not  a 
growing  number  of  beardless  ambitions  filled  with  the 
same  enthusiasms.  Their  heads  high,  their  hearts 
elate,  the}'  rush  to  the  assault  of  fame,  that  princess  of 
the  Arabian  Nights  for  whom  every  man  considers  him- 
self the  prince  !  Ah !  few  indeed  have  guessed  the 
enigma.  They  all  drop  into  the  ditch,  — into  the  mud 
of  journalism,  into  the  bog  of  book-making.  Poor 
beggars,  the}'  glean,  glean,  facts  for  biographical  arti- 
les,  or  items  for  the  columns  of  a  newspaper,  or  they 
write  books  for  prudent  publishers  who  would  rather 
have  trash  written  in  a  fortnight  than  masterpieces 
which  take  time  to  place  and  sell.  Poor  caterpillars, 
crushed  before  the}'  can  be  butterflies  ;  living  in  shame 
and  infamy,  forced  to  rend  or  praise  a  dawning  talent 
as  some  pacha  of  the  '  Constitutionnel'  or  the  '  Quo- 
tidienne '  or  the  '  Debats '  orders  him  ;  to  throttle  a 
good  book  at  a  signal  from  a  publisher,  at  a  threat 
from  a  jealous  comrade,  or,  worse  still,  for  a  dinner ! 
Those  who  surmount  all  obstacles  forget  the  misery  of 
their  beginning.  I  who  speak  to  you,  I  did,  for  six 
months,  write  articles,  in  which  I  put  the  very  flower 
of  my  mind,  for  a  wretch  who  called  them  his,  and 
who  on  those  specimens  of  his  powers  became  the 
editor  of  a  feuilleton.  He  did  not  take  me  as  an 
associate,  he  did  not  so  much  as  give  me  five  francs, 

9 


130       Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

but  I  am  forced  still  to  give  him  my  hand  and  to 
shake  his." 

"  Wh}'?"  exclaimed  Lucien,  haughtily. 

"  Because  I  may  want  some  day  to  put  a  few 
lines  into  his  paper,"  replied  Lousteau,  coldl}'.  "  Be- 
lieve me,  m}'  friend,  work  is  not  the  secret  of  success 
in  literature  ;  that  secret  is,  mark  my  words,  to  live  bj* 
the  work  of  others.  The  owners  of  newspapers  are 
contractors,  we  are  masons  and  journeymen.  The 
more  commonplace  or  second-rate  a  man  may  be,  the 
sooner  he  will  advance  himself;  he  can  swallow  toads, 
he  can  resign  himself  to  anj'thing,  and  gratify'  the  low 
and  pett}'  passions  of  the  literary  sultans,  — like  a  late- 
comer from  Limoges,  Hector  Merlin,  who  used  to  do 
politics  on  a  paper  of  the  Right  Centre,  but  now  works 
on  ours ;  I  have  seen  that  fellow  pick  up  the  hat  of  the 
editor-in-chief.  B}'  affronting  no  one  he  will  manage 
to  pass  between  and  be3'ond  rival  ambitions  while  the}' 
are  fighting  each  other.  But  you,  I  feel  a  pity  for  3'ou. 
I  see  myself  in  3'ou,  just  as  I  once  was  ;  and  I  feel  sure 
that  in  a  year  or  two  3'ou  will  be  what  I  am  now.  Per- 
haps 3'ou  will  think  there  is  some  secret  jealousy,  some 
personal  interest  in  the  bitter  advice  I  'm  giving  3^ou  ; 
no,  it  is  that  of  a  lost  soul  who  cannot  leave  the  hell 
he  is  in.  No  one  else  will  dare  sa3^  to  you  as  I  sa3', 
like  Job  on  his  dunghill,  with  despair  in  m3'  heart : 
Behold  my  sores  !  " 

''I  must  fight  to  live,"  said  Lucien,  "on  this  field  or 
elsewhere." 

"  Remember,"  said  Lousteau,  "it  is  a  fight  without 
truce  if  3'ou  have  talent ;  3'our  best  chance  would  be 
to  have  none.     Your  conscience,  pure  to-da3',  will  yield 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    131 

to  the  will  of  others  when  3'ou  see  3'our  success  or 
failure  in  their  power,  —  the  power  of  men  who  with  a 
word  could  give  you  life,  and  will  not  say  it !  For,  be- 
lieve me,  the  successful  writer  of  the  da}^  is  harder, 
more  insolent,  to  a  new-comer  than  the  most  brutal  of 
publishers.  Where  the  publisher  fears  onl}^  loss  the 
author  dreads  a  rival ;  one  cheats  you,  the  other  crushes 
3'ou.  In  3'our  ardor  to  do  fine  work,  my  poor  bo}',  you 
will  turn  all  the  tenderness,  sap,  and  energ}'  of  3'our 
heart  into  ink  and  displa3'  them  in  passions,  sentiments, 
fine  phrases.  Yes,  you  '11  write  rather  than  act ;  3'ou  '11 
sing  instead  of  fighting  ;  you  will  love  and  hate  and  live 
in  your  books  ;  and  when  you  have  spent  all  3'our  riches 
on  3'Our  style,  all  3'Our  gold  and  purple  on  3'our  char- 
acters, when  you  are  walking  the  streets  of  Paris  in 
rags,  happ\"  in  the  production  of  personages  called 
Adolphe,  Corinne,  Rene  or  Manon,  when  you  have 
ruined  your  own  life  and  your  stomach  in  giving  life 
to  your  creation,  you  will  see  it  vilified,  betrayed, 
thrust  into  obhvion  b3'  journalists,  buried  b3^  your  best 
friends.  Can  3'Ou  await  the  da3'  when  3'our  creations 
shall  rise  from  such  oblivion?  and  at  whose  call?  how? 
and  when  ?  There  is  at  this  moment  a  noble  book,  the 
pia7ito  of  unbelief,  '  Obermann,'  which  is  wandering 
desolate  in  the  dark  corners  of  the  shops  ;  publishers 
ironicall3-  call  it  a  nightingale ;  when  will  the  Easter- 
morn  arise  for  that  book  ?  Ah  !  no  one  knows.  Well, 
since  you  are  determined  to  follow  literature,  tr3^  to 
find  a  publisher  bold  enough  to  print  your  '  Daisies.' 
It  does  n't  matter  whether  he  pays  3'OU  or  not ;  only 
get  them  printed.  You  will  then  see  curious  things." 
This  harsh  tirade,  delivered  in  the  diverse  tones  of 


132     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Pai^is. 

the  various  passions  it  expressed,  fell  like  an  avalanche 
of  snow  upon  Lucien's  heart  and  turned  it  cold  as  ice. 
He  stood  motionless  and  silent  for  a  moment.  At  last, 
however,  his  courage,  as  if  stimulated  b}'  the  horrible 
picture  of  these  difficulties,  burst  forth ;  he  wrung 
Lousteau's  hand  and  cried  out :  "  I  will  triumph  !  " 

"Ah!"  said  the  journalist,  ''another  Christian  who 
goes  down  into  the  arena  to  fight  the  beasts.  My  dear 
fellow,  there's  a  first  representation  to-night  at  the 
Panorama-Dramatique ;  it  does  not  begin  till  eight 
o'clock  ;  it  is  now  six.  Go  home  and  put  on  your  best 
clothes ;  make  yourself  the  thing.  Then  come  and 
fetch  me.  I  live  in  the  rue  de  la  Harpe,  over  the  cafe 
Servel,  fourth  floor.     We  will  go  and  see  Dauriat  first, 

—  for  3'ou  do  persist,  don't  3'ou?  Well,  then,  I  '11  make 
you  known  to-night  to  the  king  of  publishers  and  several 
journalists.  After  the  theatre  we  '11  sup  together  at 
Florine's,  —  that 's  my  mistress,  —  for  our  dinner  did  n't 
amount  to  much.  You  '11  meet  Finot,  the  editor-in-chief 
and  proprietor  of  the  newspaper  I  am  on." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  this  da}',"  said  Lucien. 

"  Bring  your  manuscript  and  wear  your  best  clothes, 

—  less  for  Florine  than  for  the  publisher." 

The  good-nature  of  the  invitation,  following  so  closely 
on  the  bitter  cr\'  of  the  poet  describing  the  warfare  of 
literature,  touched  Lucien  as  keenly  as  d'Arthez'  earnest 
and  sacred  words  had  touched  him  almost  in  the  same 
place.  Excited  by  the  prospect  of  an  immediate  en- 
counter with  literary  men,  the  youth,  inexperienced  as 
he  was,  had  no  conception  of  the  reality  of  the  moral 
evils  of  which  the  journalist  had  warned  him.  He  did 
not  know  that  he  stood  at  the  angle  of  two  distinct 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Frovmces  in  Paris.    133 

paths,  two  sj'stems,  represented  by  the  Brotherhood 
and  by  Journalism  ;  of  which  one  was  long  and  honor- 
able and  sure,  and  the  other  strewn  with  rocks  and 
perilous,  crossed  by  foul  gutters  in  which  his  conscience 
must  be  soiled.  Lucien's  nature  led  him  to  take 
the  shortest  way,  apparent!}'  the  most  agreeable  wa}', 
and  to  snatch  at  decisive  and  rapid  methods.  He 
could  see  at  this  moment  no  difference  between  the 
noble  friendship  of  d'Arthez  and  the  ready  fellowship 
of  Lousteau.  His  livel}'  mind  saw  a  weapon  to  his 
hand  in  journalism ;  he  felt  himself  able  to  handle  it, 
and  he  resolved  to  take  it.  Dazzled  b}'  the  proposals 
of  his  new  friend,  whose  hand  grasped  his  with  easy 
cordiality,  how  could  he  know  that  in  the  great  Press 
army  every  man  needs  friends,  as  generals  need  sol- 
diers? Lousteau,  seeing  his  determination,  was  merely 
enlisting  him  with  the  intention  of  using  him.  The 
journalist  was  making  his  first  friend,  and  Lucien,  as 
he  thought,  his  first  protector ;  the  one  wanted  to  rise 
from  the  ranks,  the  other  to  enter  them. 


134     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 


IX. 


A   THIRD    VARIETY    OF    PUBLISHER. 

The  would-be  recruit  ran  joj'ously  back  to  his  poor 
lodging,  where  he  dressed  himself  as  carefull}^  as  on  the 
fatal  da}'  when  he  sought  to  produce  an  effect  in  Ma- 
dame d'Espard's  box ;  but  b}-  this  time  his  clothes  sat 
better  on  him  ;  he  knew  better  how  to  wear  them.  He 
now  put  on  his  handsome,  light- colored,  tight-fitting 
trousers,  a  pair  of  boots  with  tassels  (which  had  cost 
him  forty  francs),  and  his  evening  coat.  A  barber  was 
called  into  curl  and  perfume  and  friz  his  fine  and  abun- 
dant blond  hair.  His  forehead  assumed  a  confidence 
derived  from  a  sense  of  his  value  and  his  coming  fu- 
ture. His  delicate  feminine  hands  were  carefully  at- 
tended to,  and  the  rosj^  ahnond  nails  were  polished. 
The  rounded  whiteness  of  his  throat  and  chin  were  well 
set  off  by  the  black  satin  stock.  No  handsomer  young 
man  ever  ran  down  the  hill  of  the  Latin  regions.  Beau- 
tiful as  a  Grecian  god,  Lucien  jumped  into  a  coach  and 
was  set  down  at  seven  oclock  before  the  door  of  the 
house  in  which  was  the  cafe  Servel.  The  porter  invited 
him  to  climb  four  stories,  giving  him  rather  complicated 
topographical  directions.  Thus  instructed  he  found, 
not  without  difficult}',  an  open  door  at  the  end  of  a  long 
dark  passage  which  gave  entrance  into  a  classic  garret 
of  the  Latin  quarter.     Poverty'  was  there,  as  it  was 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    135 

with  himself  in  the  rue  de  Cluii}',  with  d'Arthez,  with 
Chrestien,  everywhere  !  everywhere^  too,  it  bore  the  im- 
print of  the  character  of  the  occupant.  Here,  it  w^as 
malign.  A  miserable  bedstead  without  curtains,  and  a 
strip  of  carpet  beside  it,  window-curtains  yellow  with 
smoke  from  a  chimne}'  that  would  not  draw,  a  Carcel 
lamp,  given  by  Florine  and  still  escaping  the  pawn-shop, 
a  tarnished  mahogany  bureau,  a  table  covered  with 
papers  and  two  or  three  quill-pens,  no  books  but  those 
brought  in  the  night  before,  —  such  were  the  contents 
of  this  room  (in  which  there  was  nothing  of  value),  to 
which  must  be  added  a  shabby  collection  of  broken 
boots  and  dilapidated  slippers  in  one  corner,  in  another, 
cigar-ends,  dirty  handkerchiefs,  shirts  in  two  editions 
and  cravats  in  three.  In  short,  it  was  a  literar}'  bivouac, 
supplied  with  little  or  nothing,  of  a  bareness  the  mind 
can  scared}'  imagine.  On  the  night-table,  piled  with 
books  read  during  the  morning,  shone  the  scarlet  "roll 
of  "  Fumade  ; "  on  the  mantel-shelf  lay  a  razor,  a  pair 
of  pistols,  and  a  cigar-case ;  crossed  foils  and  a  mask 
were  fastened  to  the  wall ;  three  chairs  and  two  arm- 
chairs, unworthy  of  even  the  poorest  lodging-house  in 
this  poor  street,  completed  the  outfit.  This  gloom}-, 
dirty  room  was  t\'pical  of  a  life  wdthout  peace  or  dig- 
nity ;  a  man  slept  there,  a  man  worked  there  in  haste, 
but  only  of  necessity  and  eager  to  get  awa}'.  What  a 
diflference  between  that  C3'nical  disorder  and  the  neat 
and  decent  poverty  of  d'Arthez  !  This  silent  counsel 
wrapped  in  a  memory  Lucien  did  not  heed,  for  Lousteau 
was  ready  with  a  joke  to  cover  the  nudity  of  his 
squalor. 

"  This  is  m}^  kennel,"  he  said  ;  "  mj- grand  appearance 


l36    G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

is  in  the  rue  de  Bond}',  in  a  new  apartment  which  a 
certain  druggist  has  furnished  for  Florine ;  we  are 
going  to  inaugurate  it  to-night." 

Etienne  himself  was  wearing  black  trousers  and  well- 
polished  boots,  his  coat  was  buttoned  to  the  chin,  and 
his  shirt  (Florine  probably  had  another  read}'  for  him) 
was  hidden  under  its  velvet  collar ;  he  brushed  his  hat 
carefuU}'  to  make  it  look  like  new. 

"  Shall  we  start?"  said  Lucien. 

"No,  not  yet;  I  am  waiting  for  a  publisher,  for  I 
must  have  money  ;  they  '11  play,  perhaps,  and  I  have  n't 
a  farthing  ;  besides,  I  want  some  gloves." 

Just  then  a  man's  step  was  heard  in  the  passage. 

"There  he  is,"  said  Lousteau.  "Now  you'll  see, 
m}'  dear  fellow,  the  form  and  fashion  which  providence 
puts  on  when  it  appears  to  poets.  Before  contemplat- 
ing Dauriat,  the  fashionable  publisher,  in  all  his  glory, 
you  shall  see  the  publisher  of  the  Quai  des  Augustins, 
the  turn-a-penny  publisher,  the  dealer  in  hterary  old- 
iron,  a  Norman  ex-vendor  of  green-stuffs.  Come  in, 
old  Tartar !  " 

"  Here  am  I,"  said  a  voice  as  jangling  as  a  cracked 
bell. 

' '  With  money  ?  " 

"Money!  there's  no  mone}^  now  in  the  trade,"  re- 
plied a  young  man  who  entered  the  room,  and  looked 
inquisitively  at  Lucien. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  you  owe  me  fifty  francs," 
said  Lousteau.  "  Besides  that,  here  are  two  copies 
of  '  A  Voyage  in  Egypt,'  which  they  say  is  fine ;  it 
swarms  with  engravings,  and  is  sure  to  sell.  Finot  has 
been  paid  for  two  articles  which  I  am  going  to  write 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    137 

about  it.  Next,  the  last  two  novels  of  Victor  Ducange, 
illustrious  in  the  Marais  ;  also,  two  copies  of  the  second 
work  of  a  rising  young  man,  Paul  de  Kock,  who  writes 
in  the  same  style  ;  also,  two  copies  of  '  Yseult  de  Dole,' 
a  very  prett}'  provincial  tale,  —  one  hundred  francs 
retail  price  for  the  books,  call  it  fifty.  Therefore,  my 
little  Barbet,  pay  me  one  hundred  francs." 

Barbet  looked  the  books  over,  examining  the  edges 
of  the  leaves  and  the  bindings  carefully. 

"  Oh  !  they  are  all  in  a  perfect  state  of  preservation," 
cried  Lousteau.  ^'  The  '  Vo3'age,'  is  n't  cut,  nor  the 
Paul  de  Kock,  nor  the  Ducange,  nor  that  other  book 
on  the  chimne3'-piece,  '  Observations  on  Symbolism,'  — 
I  '11  throw  that  in  ;  m}  stical  things  are  such  a  bore,  I'll 
give  it  away  sooner  than  see  the  mites  run  out  of  it." 

''But,"  said  Lucien,  "if  you  don't  read  che  books, 
how  will  you  write  your  articles?  " 

Barbet  cast  a  look  of  unfeigned  astonishment  at 
Lucien ;  then  he  turned  his  eyes  on  Lousteau  and 
remarked,  with  a  sneer,  "It  is  plain  that  monsieur 
hasn't  the  misfortune  to  be  a  literary  man." 

"  No,  Barbet,  he  is  n't ;  he 's  a  poet,  —  a  great  poet, 
who  will  put  Canalis,  and  Delavigne,  and  Beranger  into 
the  shade.  He  is  bound  to  make  his  waj',  unless  he 
flings  himself  into  the  Seine,  —  and  even  then,  he'll  go 
to  Saint-Cloud." 

"  If  I  might  give  monsieur  a  bit  of  advice,"  said 
Barbet,  "  it  would  be  to  let  poetry  alone  and  stick  to 
prose.     The}'  won't  take  verses  any  more  on  the  quai." 

Barbet  wore  a  shabby  frock-coat,  fastened  by  one 
button  ;  the  collar  was  greasy ;  he  kept  his  hat  on  his 
head,  wore  shoes,  and  under  his  half-opened  waistcoat 


138     Crreat  Mmi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

a  good  shirt  of  coarse  linen  was  visible.  His  round 
face,  enlivened  with  two  eager  e3'es,  was  not  without  a 
certain  good-humor ;  but  his  glance  had  the  vague 
uneasiness  of  a  man  accustomed  to  be  asked  for  mone}', 
and  who  has  it.  He  had  the  appearance,  however,  of 
being  frank  and  good-natured,  for  his  shrewdness  was 
well  wadded  with  fat.  After  being  for  some  3'ears  a 
clerk,  he  now  had  a  miserable  little  shop  of  his  own 
on  the  quai,  whence  he  darted  on  journalists,  authors, 
printers,  and  bought  at  a  low  price  the  books  they 
obtained  as  perquisites,  gaining  in  this  way  as  much, 
perhaps,  as  fifteen  or  twenty  francs  a  da3\  Rich  b\' 
saving,  he  scented  the  needs  of  all  with  whom  he  had 
dealings ;  he  watched  their  necessities  for  a  good 
stroke  of  business,  and  often  discounted  for  authors 
the  notes  the}-  received  from  publishers,  charging  them 
fifteen  per  cent.  The  next  da}'  he  would  purchase  from 
the  same  publishers,  after  haggling  over  the  price,  cer- 
tain good  books  that  he  needed  for  his  trade,  pajing 
back  to  them  their  own  notes  instead  of  ready  money. 
He  had  some  education,  just  enough  to  make  him  care- 
fully avoid  poetry  and  modern  novels.  He  liked  small 
enterprises,  useful  books,  the  cop3'right  of  which  did 
not  cost  him  more  than  a  thousand  francs,  and  which 
he  could  put  on  the  market  in  his  own  wa}' ;  such,  for 
instance,  as  the  "  History  of  France  adapted  for  Chil- 
dren," "  Book-keeping  in  twenty  lessons,"  "  Botany  for 
Young  Ladies."  Once  or  twice  he  had  allowed  good 
books  to  slip  through  his  fingers  from  his  inabilit}'  to 
make  up  his  mind  to  buy  the  manuscripts,  after  making 
the  authors  come  twent}^  times  or  more  to  his  shop. 
When  reproached  for  his  cowardice  he  would  show  the 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     139 

history  of  a  certain  celebrated  lawsuit  culled  from  the 
public  prints,  the  copy  for  which  had  of  course  cost  him 
nothing,  out  of  which  he  had  made  some  two  or  three 
thousand  francs.  Barbet  w^as  the  trembling  publisher, 
living,  so  to  speak,  on  bread  and  nuts,  who  makes  few 
notes,  shaves  all  he  can  off  a  bill,  hawks  his  own  books 
about,  no  one  knows  where,  but  manages  to  place  them 
and  get  the  money  for  them.  He  was  a  terror  to 
printers,  who  never  knew  how  to  manage  him ;  he 
would  pa}'  them  under  discount  and  shave  their  bills, 
especially  if  he  knew  they  needed  mone^',  and  then 
when  he  had  fleeced  them  to  the  last  penny  he  never 
employed  them  again,  fearing  reprisals. 

"Well,  well!"  said  Lousteau,  "let  us  go  back  to 
our  business  —  about  these  books." 

"  Hey,  my  bo}' !  "  said  Barbet,  familiarly.  "  I  've  at 
least  six  thousand  volumes  now  in  m}'  shop  to  sell ; 
and  you  know  very  well  books  are  not  francs ;  the 
trade  is  bad  just  now." 

"  My  dear  Lucien,"  said  Etienne,  "if  you  were  to 
go  into  his  shop  you  would  find  on  his  counter  —  a 
shabby  oak  thing  that  came  from  some  auction  in  a 
wine-shop  —  one  tallow  candle,  unsnuffed  because  that 
makes  it  burn  longer.  By  the  light  of  that  anomalous 
gleam  you  would  see  empty  shelves.  A  small  boy  in 
a  blue  jacket  keeps  watch  over  this  nothingness,  blow- 
ing his  fingers,  stamping  his  feet  or  beating  his  arms 
like  a  frozen  coachman  on  his  box.  Look  about  3'ou, 
and  you  won't  see  more  books  than  there  are  in  this 
room  at  this  moment.  No  one  would  ever  guess  the 
busmess  that  is  done  there." 

"  Here 's    a   note    for   a   hundred    francs    at   three 


140     Qreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

months,"  interposed  Barbet,  who  could  not  help  smil- 
ing as  he  pulled  a  stamped  paper  from  his  pocket, 
' '  and  I  '11  carry  oft'  3'our  trash.  You  see,  I  can't  pos- 
sibly pay  any  more  ready  mone}' ;  sales  are  so  slow. 
I  thought  you  wanted  something  out  of  me,  and  as  I 
had  n't  a  sou,  I  signed  this  note  to  oblige  you  ;  for  3^ou 
know  I  don't  like  to  give  m}'  signature." 

"  And  do  you  expect  m}-  esteem  and  gratitude  for 
that?"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Well,  feelings  won't  go  far  in  pacing  notes,  but  I'll 
accept  3'our  esteem  all  the  same,"  replied  Barbet. 

"  But  I  must  have  gloves,  and  the  perfumer  will  cer- 
tainh'  be  base  enough  to  refuse  3'our  paper,"  said  Lous- 
teau. "  Look  here  !  I  've  a  splendid  engraving — there, 
in  the  top  drawer  of  that  bureau ;  it  is  worth  eighty 
francs  before  lettering  and  after  the  article  I  've  written 
on  it,  which  is  might}'  droll,  all  about  Hippocrates  re- 
fusing Artaxerxes'  gift.  I  tell  3^ou,  it  is  a  fine  plate, 
which  will  please  all  the  doctors  who  refuse  the  ex- 
travagant fees  of  the  Parisian  satraps.  You  '11  find  a 
lot  more  novels  under  the  engraving.  Take  the  whole 
and  give  me  fort}'  francs  cash." 

"Fort}"  francs!"  exclaimed  the  publisher,  with  the 
screech  of  a  frightened  hen.  "  Twenty  at  the  utmost! 
and  I  may  lose  those,"  added  Barbet. 

"  Let  me  see  the  twenty  francs,"  said  Lousteau. 

*'  Faith !  I  don't  know  if  I  've  got  tliem,"  said  Bar- 
bet, rummaging  his  pockets.  "There  they  are.  You 
are  robbing  me  ;  you  get  the  better  of  me  —  " 

"  Come,  let  us  be  off","  said  Lousteau,  picking  up 
Lucien's  manuscript  and  making  a  stroke  of  ink  just 
beneath  the  twine  that  fastened  it. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    141 

"  Have  vou  arivthino;  more?*'  asked  Barbet. 

"Nothing,  m}'  little  Shy  lock.  I'll  put  you  in  the 
way  of  an  excellent  bit  of  business  before  long  (in 
which  3'ou  shall  lose  a  thousand  crowns  to  teach  you  to 
rob  me  in  this  wa}'),"  added  Etienne  in  a  low  voice 
to  Lucien. 

"But  3'our  articles?  how  can  you  write  them  with- 
out the  books?"  said  Lucien  as  they  drove  to  the 
Palais-Roval. 

"Pooh!  3'Ou  don't  understand  how  easil}'  that  sort 
of  thing  is  done.  As  for  the  '  Voyage  in  Egypt/  I  did 
open  the  book  and  read  here  and  there  without  cutting 
the  leaves  ;  I  found  eleven  mistakes  in  grammar ;  I 
can  make  a  column  out  of  that  hy  sa3'ing  that  though 
the  author  may  have  learned  the  hierogh'phic  language 
of  those  Eg3'ptian  milestones  called  obelisks,  he  does  n't 
know  his  own,  and  1  '11  give  the  blunders,  for  I  wrote 
them  down.  I  shall  then  tell  him  that  instead  of  writ- 
ing about  the  natural  histor3'  and  antiquit3',  he  had 
better  have  concerned  himself  with  the  future  of  Eg3'pt, 
the  progress  of  civilization,  the  means  of  uniting  it  to 
France  which,  having  once  conquered  Egypt  and  then 
lost  it,  could  still  obtain  a  moral  ascendenc3'  over  it. 
That  gives  a  chance  for  a  fine  patriotic  flourish  inter- 
larded with  tirades  about  Marseilles  and  the  Levant 
and  our  present  commercial  interests." 

"  But  suppose  the  author  had  said  all  that  himself, 
what  would  you  do?  " 

"  Oh,  then  I  should  sa3'  that  instead  of  boring  us 
with  politics,  he  had  better  ha^-e  written  about  Art  and 
described  the  countr3'  under  its  picturesque  and  terri- 
torial aspects.     There 's  a  chance  for  a  lament.      We 


142     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

are  overrun  with  politics,  politics  here,  there,  and 
everNwhere.  I  regret  those  charming  books  of  travel 
which  explained  the  difficulties  of  navigation  and  the 
delights  of  crossing  the  Line,  in  short,  what  persons 
who  never  travel  want  to  know,  —  all  the  while  laugh- 
ing, of  course,  at  travellers  who  make  great  events  of 
gulls,  porpoises,  whales,  first  sight  of  land,  and  shoals 
avoided.  Subscribers  laugh,  and  that  is  all  that 's 
wanted.  As  for  novels,  Florine  is  the  greatest  reader 
of  novels  there  is  in  the  world.  She  tells  me  what  they 
are  about,  and  I  knock  off '  an  article  accordingly. 
When  she  is  bored  by  what  she  calls  '•  author's 
phrases,'  I  give  the  book  a  respectful  notice,  and  ask 
the  publisher  for  another  cop}',  which  he  sends  me  out 
of  gratitude  for  the  puff." 

"  Good  God !  and  criticism,  sacred  criticism?"  cried 
Lucien,  still  imbued  with  the  principles  of  the  brother- 
hood. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Lousteau,  "criticism  is  a 
brush  which  vou  can't  nse  on  thin  material,  or  it  tears 
it  to  rags.  Well,  don't  let  us  talk  of  the  business  an}' 
more.  Do  you  see  that  mark?"  he  went  on,  pointing 
to  the  line  he  had  made  on  the  outside  sheet  of  the 
"Daisies."  "It  is  exactl}'  under  the  twine.  If  Dauriat 
reads  3'our  manuscript,  he  will  certainly  not  be  able  to 
tie  the  string  in  exactl}'  the  same  place.  Your  manu- 
script is  as  good  as  sealed,  and  3'ou  will  know  whether 
he  opens  it,  —  not  at  all  a  useless  experience  for  3'ou. 
Now,  take  notice  of  another  thing ;  you  are  not  making 
your  entrance  into  the  trade  alone  and  without  a 
sponsor,  like  other  3'oung  fellows  who  go  the  round  of  a 
dozen  publishers  none  of  whom  will  offer  them  a  chair." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    148 

Lucien  alreadj'  felt  the  truth  of  this  assertion. 
Lousteaii  had  paid  the  cabman  three  francs,  to  the 
poet's  utter  amazement ;  such  prodigaUt}'  on  the  heels 
of  penur}'  seeming  incredible  to  him. 

The  new  friends  now  entered  the  Galeries  de  Bois, 
where  Dauriat's  great  publishing  concern  called  ''The 
Novelty  "  reigned  supreme.  At  the  period  of  which  we 
speak  the  Galeries  de  Bois  of  the  Palais-Royal  were 
among  the  most  noted  of  the  sights  of  Paris.  It  is  by 
no  means  useless  to  draw  a  picture  of  that  ignoble 
bazaar,  which  for  thirty-six  years  pla3'ed  so  great  a  role 
in  Parisian  life  that  there  are  few  men  of  forty  to  whom 
the  following  description,  incredible  to  3'ounger  men, 
will  not  be  of  interest. 

In  place  of  the  present  cold,  lofty,  and  broad  Galerie 
d'Orleans,  a  sort  of  green-house  without  flowers,  there 
stood  in  those  days  a  line  of  wooden  barracks,  or,  to 
be  more  exact,  plank  huts,  small,  poorl}'  roofed  and  ill- 
lighted  from  the  court  and  garden  and  also  from  the 
roof  by  small  sashes,  called  casements,  w^hich  were 
more  like  the  dirty  openings  of  the  dance-halls  bej'ond 
the  barriers  than  actual  windows.  A  triple  line  of 
booths  made  two  galleries  about  twelve  feet  high  ;  those 
down  the  centre  faced  to  each  side,  and  the  fetid  air 
which  rose  from  the  crowded  passage-ways  had  little 
chance  to  escape  through  the  roof,  which  admitted  only 
a  dim  light  through  its  dirty  casements.  These  centre 
booths  or  cells  were  thought  so  valuable,  because  of  the 
crowds  who  passed  them,  that  in  spite  of  their  narrow 
space  (some  being  scared}'  six  feet  wide  and  eight  or 
ten  feet  long)  they  brought  enormous  prices, — some 
as  much  as  three  thousand  francs.     The  side  booths, 


144     Gi'eat  Man  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris. 

which  were  hghted  from  the  court  and  from  the  garden, 
were  protected  b}'  small,  green  trellises,  possibl}'  to 
prevent  the  crowd  outside  from  demolishing  b}'  pressure 
the  lath-and-plaster  walls  which  formed  the  sides  of  the 
sheds.  Here,  therefore,  was  a  space  of  some  two  or 
three  feet  in  width  where  the  most  amazing  products  of 
a  botau}'  unknown  to  science  vegetated,  mingled  with 
the  cast-off  scraps  of  industries  that  were  not  less 
flourisliing.  Rose-trees  and  wastepaper,  flowers  of 
rhetoric  and  flowers  of  nature,  ribbons  of  all  colors, 
remnants  of  the  fashions,  in  short,  the  refuse  of  the  in- 
terior commerce  was  there  collected.  The  outer  walls 
of  this  fantastic  palace,  towards  the  court  and  towards 
the  garden,  presented  tiie  lowest  aspect  of  Parisian 
shabbiness ;  the  coloring  of  the  stucco  was  washed  off, 
the  plaster  itself  was  falling,  or  patched,  or  scribbled 
over  with  grotesque  writings.  On  both  sides  a  nauseous 
and  disgusting  approach  seemed  to  warn  delicate  per- 
sons from  entering  these  galleries ;  and  3-et  delicate  and 
refined  persons  were  no  more  kept  away  b}'  these  horri- 
ble things  than  princes  in  fairy-tales  recoil  from  dragons 
and  other  obstacles  interposed  bj'  evil  genii  between 
them  and  the  princesses. 

These  galleries  were,  as  the  Galerie  d'Orleans  is 
to-da}',  divided  b^'  passage-wa3'S,  from  which  they  were 
entered  by  the  present  porticos,  which  were  begun  before 
the  Revolution  and  left  unfinished  for  want  of  mone}'. 
The  handsome  stone  gallery  which  now  leads  to  the 
Theatre-Fran^ais  was  in  those  days  a  narrow  passage-way 
of  excessive  height  and  so  ill-covered  that  the  rain  wet  it. 
It  was  called  the  Galerie  Vitree,  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  Galeries  de  Bois.     The  roofs  of  all  these  miserable 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    145 

sheds  were  in  such  a  bad  state  that  the  House  of  Orleans 
had  a  lawsuit  with  a  famous  shopkeeper  who  found  his 
cashmeres  and  other  goods  injured  during  a  single  night 
to  a  large  amount  of  mone}'.  The  man  won  his  case. 
A  double  thickness  of  tarred  cloth  served  for  a  covering 
in  some  places.  The  floor  of  the  Galerie  Vitree  (where 
Chevet's  fortune  began),  also  that  of  the  Galeries  de 
Bois  was  the  soil  of  Paris,  with  such  other  soil  added 
as  the  boots  and  shoes  of  a  myriad  of  pedestrians  had 
imported  there.  In  all  weather  the  feet  were  forced  to 
stumble  among  mountains  and  valleys  of  hardened  mud, 
constantl}'  swept  b}'  the  shopkeepers,  but,  even  so,  re- 
quiring all  new-comers  to  learn  a  method  of  manage- 
ment in  order  to  walk  with  safet3^ 

This  disgusting  mass  of  mud,  these  dirty  panes  of 
glass  thickened  by  rain  and  dust,  these  flat-roofed  huts 
covered  outside  with  ragged  cloth,  the  filth  of  the  out- 
side walls,  in  short,  this  whole  assemblage  of  things, 
which  was  like  a  camp  of  gypsies,  or  the  barracks  at  a 
fair,  or  the  provisional  boardings  put  up  in  Paris  round 
houses  that  are  building,  all  this  grinning  vulgarity  was 
wonderfullj'  in  keeping  with  the  diflferent  trades  which 
swarmed  beneath  these  nasty  sheds,  —  bold,  shameless, 
voluble,  and  wildly  ga}' ;  for  an  incalculable  business 
was  done  here  from  the  Revolution  of  1789  to  that  of 
1830.  For  twenty  years  the  Bourse  was  directl}'  oppo- 
site, on  the  ground- floor  of  the  palace.  Rendezvous 
were  given  before  and  after  the  opening  of  the  exchange 
in  these  galleries.  Consequenth',  public  opinion  and 
reputations  were  made  and  unmade  here,  and  political 
and  financial  aff'airs  incessantly  discussed.  The  Paris 
world  of  bankers  and   merchants    congregated  in  the 

10 


146     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

square  of  the  Palais-Royal,  and  swarmed  into  the 
galleries  when  it  rained.  The  construction  of  these 
wooden  buildings,  which  had  sprung  up  heaven  knows 
how,  made  them  singularly  resonant.  Bursts  of  laugh- 
ter echoed  through  them  ;  not  a  quarrel  could  take  place 
at  one  end  that  the  other  end  did  not  know  what  it  was 
about.  The  place  was  occupied  solely  by  the  shops  of 
booksellers  and  publishers  (poetr3%  politics,  and  prose) 
and  by  those  of  milliners.  At  night  the  women  of  the 
town  appeared  there.  Novels  and  books  of  all  kinds, 
new  and  old  reputations,  political  plots  and  counter- 
plots, the  lies  of  publishers  and  booksellers  all  flourished 
there.  There,  too,  novelties  were  sold  to  a  public  that 
persisted  in  not  buying  them  elsewhere.  In  the  course 
of  a  single  evening  thousands  of  copies  have  been  sold 
of  a  pamphlet  b}^  Paul- Louis  Courier  or  the  "Adven- 
tures of  the  Daughter  of  a  King,"  which,  b^^  the  hy, 
was  the  first  shot  fired  by  the  House  of  Orleans  at  the 
Charter  of  Louis  XVIII. 

At  the  particular  period  when  Lucien  first  appeared 
there,  a  few  of  the  booths  had  windows  with  rather  ele- 
gant panes  of  glass ;  these  were,  of  course,  on  the  side 
booths  looking  either  to  the  court  or  the  garden.  Up  to 
the  time  when  this  strange  colon}'  disappeared  under 
the  wand  of  Fontaine  the  architect,  the  booths  in  the 
centre  were  entirely  open,  supported  b}'  pillars,  like 
booths  at  a  country  fair,  and  the  e3'e  could  look  across 
and  through  them  to  the  gallery  on  the  other  side.  As 
it  was  impossible  to  make  fires,  the  merchants  used 
foot-warmers,  which  they  took  care  of  themselves  ;  for 
one  piece  of  carelessness  would  instantly  have  wrapped 
in  flames  that  whole  republic  of  planks  dried  in  the  sun, 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    147 

with  all  its  inflammable  contents  of  paper,  gauze,  and 
muslin.  The  shops  of  the  milliners  were  full  of  wonder- 
ful bonnets,  which  seemed  to  be  there  less  for  sale  than 
for  show,  hansino;  by  hundreds  on  iron  trees  and  enliven- 
ing  the  galleries  with  a  thousand  colors.  For  twenty 
years  the  loungers  in  the  galleries  had  wondered  on  what 
heads  those  dust}^  bonnets  would  end  their  days.  Sales- 
women, for  the  most  part  ugly,  but  brisk,  hooked  the 
female  sex  adroitly  in  the  style  and  language  of  mar- 
ketwomen.  One  grisette,  whose  tongue  was  as  free 
as  her  e3'es  were  active,  stood  on  a  stool  and  attacked 
the  passers  :  "  Buy  a  prett}^  bonnet,  madame  !  "  "  Let 
me  sell  3'ou  something,  monsieur."  Their  rich  and 
picturesque  vocabulary  was  varied  by  inflections  of  the 
voice,  and  interspersed  with  knowing  looks  and  criti- 
cisms on  those  who  passed  them.  The  publishers  and 
the  milliners  lived  on  good  terms  with  each  other. 

In  the  passage  called  so  gorgeousl}'  the  Galerie 
Vitree,  the  most  extraordinary  enterprises  were  carried 
on.  There  ventriloquists  and  charlatans  of  all  kinds 
had  settled  themselves,  and  shows  were  offered  where  it 
was  a  lottery  whether  3'ou  saw  nothing  or  the  whole 
world.  It  was  there  that  a  man  first  established  him- 
self who  afterwards  made  seven  or  eight  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  in  fairs  all  over  France.  His  sign  was  a  sun 
revolving  in  a  black  frame,  round  which  were  the  fol- 
lowing words  in  scarlet  letters:  "Here  man  ma}' see 
what  God  can  never  see.  Entrance  two  sous."  The 
door-keeper  never  allowed  one  person  to  go  in  alone, 
nor  more  than  two  at  a  time.  Once  in,  3'ou  found  3'our- 
self  confronted  with  a  huge  mirror.  Then  a  voice, 
which  might  have   startled  even   Hoff'mann  of  Berlin 


148     Great  Mmi  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris. 

himself,  went  off  like  a  mechanism  when  the  spring  is 
touched,  and  said:  "There,  gentlemen,  you  see  that 
which  throughout  all  eternity  God  can  never  see ; 
namely,  3'our  like,  —  God  has  no  like."  You  went  away 
ashamed  and  silent,  unwilling  to  acknowledge  3-our 
stupidit}'. 

From  all  the  little  doors  issued  voices  of  the  same 
nature,  inviting  3'ou  to  visit  cosmoramas,  views  of  Con- 
stantinople, puppet-shows,  automatons  playing  chess, 
dogs  who  could  pick  out  the  handsomest  woman  in  so- 
ciet}'.  The  ventriloquist  Fitz-James  flourished  in  the 
cafe  Borel,  before  he  went  to  die  at  Montmartre  among 
the  pupils  of  the  Ecole  Pol3'technique.  Here  were  fruit- 
erers and  bouquet-makers,  and  a  celebrated  tailor  whose 
military  gold  lace  shone  at  night  like  suns.  In  the 
mornings  up  to  half-past  two  o'clock  these  galleries  were 
dismal  and  deserted.  The  shopkeepers  talked  among 
themselves  as  if  at  home.  The  appointments  which  the 
Parisian  population  gave  themselves  did  not  begin  till 
about  three  o'clock,  the  hour  for  the  Bourse.  As  soon 
as  the  crowd  poured  in,  the  gratuitous  readings  at  the 
booksellers'  counters  by  penniless  young  men  hungry 
for  literature  began.  The  shopmen  whose  business  it 
was  to  watch  the  books  thus  exposed  for  sale  charitably 
allowed  these  poor  fellows  to  turn  the  leaves.  If  the 
book  happened  to  be  a  12mo  of  two  hundred  pages, 
like  "Smarra,''  "Peter  Schlemil,"  "Jean  Sbogar," 
"Jocko,"  two  visits  would  enable  the  reader  to  devour  it. 
In  those  davs  circulatinoj-libraries  did  not  exist ;  it  was 
necessary  to  buy  a  book  in  order  to  read  it ;  and  this 
was  why  novels  were  sold  in  numbers  that  now  seem 
fabulous.     There  was  something  indescribably  French 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    149 

in  these  mental  alms  bestowed  on  3'outliful,  eager,  pov- 
ert3^-stricken  intellect. 

The  tragic  aspect  of  this  terrible  bazaar  began  to 
show  itself  towards  evening.  Through  all  the  adjacent 
streets  women  poured  in,  who  were  allowed  to  walk 
there  unmolested ;  from  every  section  of  Paris  came 
prostitutes  to  "  do  the  Palais."  The  stone  galleries 
belonged  to  privileged  establishments,  who  paid  for  the 
right  to  expose  their  creatures,  dressed  like  princesses, 
between  such  and  such  an  arch  with  a  corresponding 
right  to  the  same  distance  in  the  garden ;  but  the 
Galeries  de  Bois  were  the  common  ground  of  women  of 
the  town,  "  the  Palais/'  par  excellence,  a  word  which 
signified  in  those  days  the  temple  of  prostitution.  Any 
woman  might  come  there  and  go  awaj',  accompanied  by 
her  prey,  wheresoever  it  pleased  her.  They  drew  such 
crowds  to  the  Galeries  de  Bois  that  every  one  was  com- 
pelled to  walk  at  a  snail's  pace  as  they  do  in  the  pro- 
cession at  a  masked  ball.  But  this  slowness,  which 
annoyed  no  one,  enabled  persons  to  examine  each  other. 
The  women  were  all  dressed  in  a  stjde  and  manner  that 
no  longer  exists ;  their  gowns  were  made  low  to  the 
very  middle  of  their  backs,  and  also  very  low  in  front ; 
their  heads  were  dressed  fantastically  to  attract  notice ; 
some  were  Norman  in  style,  others  Spanish  ;  the  hair  of 
one  was  curled  like  a  poodle,  that  of  another  in  smooth, 
straight  bands  ;  their  legs,  covered  with  white  stockings, 
were  shown,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  how,  but  always 
a  propos.  All  this  picturesque  infamy  is  now  done 
awa}^  with.  The  license  of  solicitation  and  answer, 
that  public  cynicism  so  in  keeping  with  the  place  itself, 
is  no  longer  to  be  seen,  either  there  or  at  masked  balls. 


150     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

nor  in  the  celebrated  public  balls  which  are  given  in  the 
present  clay.  The  scene  was  horrible  and  gay.  The 
white  flesh  of  the  shoulders  and  throats  shone  and 
sparkled  against  the  clothing  of  the  men  which  was 
usually  dark,  producing  magnificent  contrasts.  The  roll 
of  voices  and  the  noise  of  steps  sent  a  murmuring  sound 
to  the  middle  of  the  garden,  like  the  breaking  of  the 
waves  upon  a  sandbank.  Well-dressed  persons  and 
striking-looking  men  were  cheek  by  jowl  with  evident 
gallows-birds.  There  was  something  impossible  to  de- 
fine, something  piquant,  about  these  infamous  assem- 
blages ;  even  the  most  insensible  men  were  stirred  b}'^ 
them,  —  so  much  so  that  all  Paris  came  there  until  the 
last  moment,  and  walked  the  wooden  planks  with  which 
the  architect  covered  the  cellars  of  the  new  Galerie 
d'Orleans  as  he  built  it.  Deep  and  unanimous  regret 
was  felt  at  the  demolition  of  those  disgraceful  wooden 
galleries. 


Gi'eat  Man  of  the  Provhices  in  Paris.    151 


X. 

A   FOURTH    VARIETY    OF    PUBLISHER. 

Ladvocat,  the  publisher,  had  lateh'  established  him- 
self at  the  corner  of  the  passage  which  divided  the  two 
galleries,  opposite  to  the  establishment  of  Dauriat,  a 
3'oung  man  now  forgotten,  but  a  daring  fellow,  who 
cleared  the  way  along  which  his  rival  subsequently  ad- 
vanced to  fortune.  Dauriat's  shop  was  at  the  angle  of 
the  passage  and  gallery  looking  towards  the  garden  ; 
that  of  Ladvocat  was  towards  the  court.  Dauriat's 
place  was  divided  into  two  unequal  parts  ;  one  a  ware- 
room  for  his  publications,  the  other  a  sort  of  office. 

Lucien  who  was  in  this  scene  for  the  first  time  at 
night,  was  bewildered  by  its  strange  aspects,  which 
provincials  and  indeed  all  3'oung  men  are  unable  to 
resist.     He  soon  lost  his  companion  in  the  crowd. 

"  If  you  were  as  handsome  as  that  fellow,  I  'd  give 
3'ou  something  in  return,"  said  one  of  the  women  to  an 
old  man,  pointing  to  Lucien. 

Lucien  turned  as  shamefaced  as  a  blind  man's  dog, 
and  he  followed  the  torrent  in  a  state  of  excitement  and 
bewilderment  impossible  to  describe.  Harassed  b}^  the 
glances  of  the  women,  dazzled  by  their  white  shoulders 
and  their  bold  throats,  he  clasped  his  manuscript  ana 
held  it  close,  fearing,  poor  innocent,  that  some  of  therj 
would  steal  it. 


152     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris. 

' '  What  is  it,  monsieur  ?  "  he  cried,  feeling  himself 
seized  by  the  arm,  and  fancying  that  his  poems  might 
have  attracted  some  author.  Turning  round,  he  saw 
Lousteau,  who  laughed  and  said :  — 

"  I  knew  3'ou  would  end  by  coming  this  way." 

The  poet  was  in  front  of  Dauriat's  wareroom,  into 
which  Lousteau  now  took  him.  The  place  was  full  of 
persons,  all  waiting  their  turn  to  speak  with  the  sultan 
of  publishers.  Printers,  paper-makers,  designers,  were 
clustering  about  the  clerks  and  questioning  them  as  to 
the  business  they  had  in  hand  or  were  meditating. 

"  There  's  Finot,  the  editor  of  my  paper,"  said  Lou- 
steau ;  "  he  is  talking  with  a  young  man  who  has  talent, 
Felicien  Vernou  ;  a  little  scoundrel  as  dangerous  as  a 
secret  disease." 

"Well,  you've  got  a  first  representation,  old  man," 
said  Finot,  coming  up  to  Lousteau,  with  Vernou  ;  "  but 
I  've  disposed  of  the  box." 

"  You  Ve  sold  it  to  Braulard?  " 

"  Suppose  I  have?  You  can  easily  get  a  place. 
What  have  you  come  to  see  Dauriat  about?  I  have 
agreed  that  we  will  push  Paul  de  Kock ;  Dauriat  has 
taken  five  hundred  copies.  Victor  Ducange  refused 
him  a  novel ;  so  Dauriat  wants,  he  says,  to  set  up  a  new 
author  in  the  same  style.  You  are  to  write  up  Paul  de 
Kock  over  Ducange." 

"  But  Ducange  and  I  have  a  play  together  at  the 
Gaite,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Then  tell  him  I  wrote  the  article,  —  let  him  suppose 
I  made  it  savage  and  you  softened  it ;  he  '11  owe  you 
thanks  for  that." 

''  Can't  you  manage  to  get  Dauriat's  clerk  to  cash 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    153 

me  this  little  note  for  a  hundred  francs?"  said  Etienne 
to  Finot ;  ' '  you  know  !  we  are  to  sup  together  tc-night 
to  inaugurate  Florine's  new  apartment." 

"Ah,  yes,  true  ;  you  treat  us/'  said  Finot,  as  if  he 
were  making  an  effort  of  memory.  "  Look  here,  Gabus- 
son,"  said  the  editor,  taking  Barbet's  note  and  handing 
it  to  the  cashier,  "  give  monsieur  ninety'  francs  for  me. 
Endorse  the  note,  old  man." 

Lousteau  took  the  cashiers  pen  while  the  latter 
counted  out  the  mone}',  and  endorsed  the  note.  Lucien, 
all  ej'es  and  ears,  lost  not  a  sj'llable  of  the  conver- 
sation. 

"But   that's   not   all,   m}-   dear   friend,"   continued 
Etienne,  "  and  I  shall  not  say  'thank  you'  either,  for 
there  's  friendship  to  the  death  between  you  and  me  of 
course.     I  want  to  present  this  gentleman  to  Dauriat, 
and  3'ou  must  make  him  willing  to  listen  to  us." 

"  What 's  in  the  wind?"  asked  Finot. 

"  A  collection  of  poems,"  replied  Lucien. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Finot,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  I  take  it  that  monsieur  has  not  had  much  to  do  with 
publishers  as  yet,"  remarked  Vernou,  looking  at  Lucien, 
"  or  he  would  hide  his  manuscript  in  the  deepest  re- 
cesses of  his  own  room." 

At  this  moment  a  handsome  young  man,  named  Emile 
Blondet,  who  had  just  made  his  mark  b}'  articles  of  great 
public  import  in  the  "  Journal  des  Debats,"  entered  the 
place,  shook  hands  with  Finot  and  Lousteau,  and  bowed 
slightly  to  Vernou. 

"  Come  and  sup  with  us  to-night  at  Florine's,"  Lou- 
steau said  to  him. 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Blondet ;  "  who  's  to  be  there?  " 


154     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"Well,  Florine  and  Matifat,"  said  Lousteau,  "and 
Du  Bruel,  who  gives  Florine  the  role  for  her  first  ap- 
pearance to-night,  and  a  little  old  fellow  named  Cardot, 
and  liis  son-in-law  Camusot ;  also  Finot." 

"  Does  the  druggist  do  things  in  st3-le?  " 

"  He  won't  drug  us  I  hope,"  remarked  Lucien. 

"  Monsieur  is  wittjV  said  Blondet  looking  gravely  at 
Lucien  ;  "  will  he  be  there,  too,  Lousteau?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  we  shall  have  some  fun." 

Lucien  reddened  to  the  tips  of  his  ears. 

"  How  long  before  I  can  see  you,  Dauriat  ?  "  said 
Blondet,  rapping  on  the  window,  which  was  high  up 
in  the  partition  between  the  office  and  the  shop. 

"  I  '11  be  with  you  directly,"  said  a  voice. 

"  Good,"  said  Lousteau  to  his  protege  ;  "  that  young 
man,  almost  as  3'oung  as  you  are,  is  on  the  '  Debats.' 
He  's  among  the  princes  of  criticism  ;  everybod}"  fears 
him  ;  Dauriat  will  come  and  fawn  upon  him,  and  we 
shall  have  a  good  chance  to  speak  to  the  pacha  of 
vignettes  and  printers.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  this  we 
might  have  waited  till  eleven  o'clock  before  our  turn 
came  to  see  him  ;  see  how  the  crowd  increases." 

Lucien  and  Lousteau  followed  Blondet,  Finot,  and 
Vernou,  and  together  they  made  a  little  group  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  shop. 

"  What  is  Dauriat  about?"  said  Blondet  to  Gabus- 
son,  the  head-clerk,  who  came  forward  to  speak  to  him. 

"  He  is  buj'ing  a  broken-down  weeklj^  paper,  which 
he  wants  to  revive  in  order  to  check  the  influence  of  the 
'  Minerve,'  which  is  too  exclusivel}'  for  Eymery,  and  the 
'  Conservateur,'  which  is  blindlj'  romanticist." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    155 


u 


Does  he  pay  a  good  price  for  it  ?  " 

"As  usual,  —  more  ttiau  it  is  wortli,"  replied  the 
cashier. 

Just  then  a  young  man  who  had  latel}^  published  a 
fine  novel,  which  had  sold  rapidl}'  and  won  immediate 
success  (the  second  edition  being  now  under  wa}'),  en- 
tered the  place.  The  appearance  of  this  young  man, 
endowed  with  that  peculiar,  fantastic  air  and  manner 
which  characterizes  the  artistic  nature,  struck  Lucien 
powerfull3\ 

"  Here  's  Nathan,"  said  Lousteau  in  Lucien's  ear. 

In  spite  of  the  almost  savage  pride  expressed  in  his 
countenance,  then  in  its  first  youth,  Nathan  approached 
the  journalists  hat  in  hand,  and  placed  himself  humbly 
before  Blondet,  whom  he  as  yet  knew  only  by  sight. 
Blondet  and  Finot  kept  their  hats  on  their  heads. 

"Monsieur,"  began  Nathan,  addressing  Blondet,  "  I 
am  most  happy  in  the  opportunity  which  chance  affords 
me  —  " 

"  He  is  so  agitated  he  talks  pleonasms,"  whispered 
Vernou  to  Lousteau. 

"  — to  express  m}"  gratitude  for  the  fine  review  3'ou 
were  so  good  as  to  give  me  in  the  '  Journal  des  Debats.' 
More  than  half  of  the  success  of  my  book  is  owing  to 
you.'' 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  friend,  no !  "  said  Blondet,  with  a 
protecting  manner  only  slightly  masked  by  kindliness. 
"You  have  talent,  and  I'm  dehghted,  the  devil  take 
me,  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"  As  your  article  has  alread}^  appeared  I  shall  not  be 
thought  to  curry  favor  ;  I  maj'  feel  at  my  ease  with  you. 
Will  you  do  me  the  honor  and  the  pleasure  of  dining 


156     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris „ 

with  me  to-morrow  ?  Finot  will  be  there ;  Lousteau, 
old  man,  30U  won't  refuse  me ?  "  added  Nathan,  grasp- 
ins^  Lonsteau's  hand.  "Ah!  vou  have  chosen  a  noble 
course,  monsieur,"  he  continued,  addressing  Blondet ; 
"  3'ou  are  following  the  Dussaults,  Fievees,  Geoffro3'S. 
Hoffmann  spoke  of  3'ou  to  Claude  Vignon,  his  pupil,  a 
friend  of  mine,  to  whom  he  said  that  the  '  Journal  des 
Debats'  would  live  long  with  such  articles  as  3'ours. 
The3'  must  pa3'  3'ou  enormousl3'  for  them." 

"  A  hundred  francs  a  column,"  replied  Blondet,  "and 
that's  a  small  price  when  one  has  to  read  so  man3'' 
books  in  order  to  find  one,  like  3'ours,  that  is  worth 
reviewing.  Your  work  gave  me  great  pleasure,  on  m3'' 
word  of  honor." 

"  And  it  helped  him  to  earn  fifteen  hundred  francs," 
said  Lousteau  to  Lucien. 

"But  3^ou  write  chiefl3'  on  political  subjects,  don't 
you?"  said  Nathan. 

*' As  occasion  off'ers,"  replied  Blondet. 

Lucien  had  admired  Nathan's  book,  he  revered  the 
writer  as  a  demi-god,  and  was  therefore,  fledgling  that 
he  was,  stupefied  at  the  man's  abasement  before  this 
critic,  whose  name  and  influence  were  unknown  to  him. 
"  Shall  I  ever  come  to  that?  must  a  man  abdicate  his 
own  self-respect?"  thought  he.  "Put  on  3'our  hat, 
Nathan !  3'ou  have  written  a  fine  book,  and  that  critic 
has  onl3^  made  an  article  on  it."  Such  thoughts  lashed 
the  blood  in  his  veins.  As  he  stood  there  he  saw  num- 
berless timid  3'oung  men,  need3'  authors,  all  anxious  to 
speak  to  Dauriat,  but  who,  seeing  the  shop  full  and  des- 
pairing of  getting  an  audience,  turned  and  went  out, 
remarking  sadl3^,  "  I  will  call  again." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    157 

Two  or  three  public  men  were  talking  of  the  convo- 
cation of  the  Chambers  and  of  politics  among  a  knot  of 
celebrities  in  national  affairs.  The  weekl}-  journal  for 
which  Dauriat  was  now  negotiating  had  the  right  to 
discuss  politics.  In  those  da^'s  this  was  rare  ;  a  news- 
paper was  a  privilege  as  much  run  after  as  a  theatre. 
One  of  the  influential  stockholders  of  the  "  Constitu- 
tionnel "  happened  to  form  one  of  this  group.  Lousteau 
had  certainly  acquitted  himself  well  in  his  office  of 
cicerone,  for,  at  every  word,  Dauriat  was  magnified  in 
Lucien's  mind  as  politics  and  literature  were  seen  to 
converge  upon  him.  But  the  sight  of  a  fine  writer 
prostrating  his  talent  before  a  journalist,  humiliating 
Art,  as  woman  was  humiliated  and  prostituted  beneath 
those  shameless  galleries,  was  a  terrible  education  to 
the  provincial  poet.  Money  !  j'es,  money  was  the  ke}' 
to  the  whole  enigma.  Lucien  felt  himself  alone,  help- 
less, clinging  only  hj  the  weak  thread  of  an  uncertain 
friendship  to  success  and  fortune.  He  accused  his  true 
and  far-seeing  friends  in  the  brotherhood  of  having 
painted  this  world  in  false  colors  ;  he  blamed  them  for 
having  dissuaded  him  from  flinging  himself  into  the 
arena,  pen  in  hand. 

"  I  might  by  this  time  have  been  another  Blondet !  " 
thou2;ht  he. 

Lousteau  himself,  who  had  lately  cried  in  his  ears 
in  the  gardens  like  a  wounded  eagle,  Lousteau,  whom  he 
had  thought  so  great,  was  now  dwarfed ;  one  man  alone 
seemed  to  him  important,  —  this  fashionable  publisher, 
who  was  literally  the  means  by  which  all  these  lives 
existed.  The  poet,  as  he  stood  there,  manuscript  in 
hand,   was  conscious  of  a  trepidation  that  resembled 


158     Great  Man  of  the  Proviiices  in  Paris, 

fear.  In  the  centre  of  the  shop  our  poet  noticed  sev- 
eral busts  on  wooden  pedestals  painted  to  resemble 
marble,  —  one  of  B3^ron,  one  of  Goethe,  and  one  of 
Canalis,  from  whom  Dauriat  was  desirous  of  obtainino; 
a  volume.  Gradually  he  began  to  lose  the  sense  of  his 
own  value ;  his  courage  weakened.  He  foresaw  the 
influence  that  this  Dauriat  was  to  exercise  over  his 
destin}',  and  he  nervously  awaited  his  appearance. 

"  Well,  m}'  friends/'  said  a  fat  and  oily  little  man, 
with  a  face  like  that  of  a  Roman  pro-consul,  softened, 
however,  b}"  a  good-humored  expression  which  beguiled 
superficial  minds,  "behold  me  the  proprietor  of  the 
onl}'  weekl}'  paper  that  could  be  purchased,  with  a  list 
of  two  thousand  subscribers." 

' '  Nonsense !  the  Stamp-Office  rates  them  at  seven 
hundred  ;  and  that 's  over  the  mark,"  said  Blondet. 

"  On  mv  sacred  word  of  honor  there  are  twelve 
hundred.  I  make  it  two  thousand,"  added  Dauriat, 
lowering  his  voice,  "because  of  those  printers  and 
paper-makers  over  there.  —  I  thought  3'ou  knew  better 
than  that,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  Do  3'ou  want  partners?  "  asked  Finot. 

"  That  depends,"  replied  Dauriat.  "  Will  you  take 
a  third  at  forty  thousand  francs  ?  " 

' '  All  right,  if  you  '11  agree  to  put  the  men  I  want 
on  the  staff,  —  Emile  Blondet  here  present,  Claude 
Vignon,  Scribe,  Theodore  Leclercq,  Feli^ien  Vernou, 
Jay,  Jou}^,  Lousteau  —  " 

"  And  why  not  Lucien  de  Rubempre?  "  said  the  poet 
of  the  provinces,  boldly. 

''  —  and  Nathan,"  concluded  Finot. 

"  Yes,  and  why  not  every bod}^  who  is  walking  about?  " 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    159 

said  the  publisher,  frowning,  and  addressing  the  author 
of  the  "Daisies."  "To  whom  have  I  the  honor  of 
speaking?"  he  said,   with  an  impertinent  air. 

'' One  moment,  Dauriat,"  interposed  Lousteau.  "I 
brought  monsieur  to  see  you.  Wliile  Plnot  is  thinking 
over  your  proposal,  let  me  have  a  word  with  you." 

Lucien's  shirt  felt  wet  upon  his  back  as  he  saw  the 
cold,  displeased  look  of  this  formidable  padishah  of 
publishers,  who  had  greeted  all  the  writers  present  with 
an  air  of  familiar  contempt. 

"Is  it  some  new  affair,  my  bo}'?"  asked  Dauriat ; 
"  you  know  very  well  I  have  got  eleven  hundred  m.anu- 
scripts  now  on  hand.  Yes,  gentlemen,"  he  cried, 
"  positively  eleven  hundred,  — ask  Gabusson.  T  shall 
soon  need  a  staff  of  clerks  to  register  them,  and  another 
staff  of  readers  to  examine  them  ;  there  '11  be  meetings 
to  vote  on  their  merits,  with  ballots,  and  a  secretary  to 
report  results  ;  a  sort  of  annex  to  the  Academic  Fran- 
9aise,  in  which  the  academicians  shall  be  better  paid  in 
the  Galeries  de  Bois  than  they  are  at  the  Institute." 

"  A  good  idea,"  said  Blondet. 

"A  bad  idea,"  retorted  Dauriat.  "  I  have  no  inten- 
tion of  examining  the  lucubrations  of  such  of  you  as 
start  in  literature  because  you  can't  be  anything  else,  — 
neither  bootmakers,  nor  corporals,  nor  servants,  nor 
sheriffs,  nor  magistrates,  nor  capitalists  of  any  kind. 
No  one  is  admitted  here  unless  his  reputation  is  made. 
If  you  are  celebrated  3'ou  shall  have  floods  of  gold,  not 
otherwise.  I  have  made  three  men  famous  durinaf 
the  last  two  3'ears  and  thej'  are  all  three  ungrateful. 
There  's  Nathan,  who  wants  six  thousand  francs  for 
the  second  edition  of  his  book,  which  has  cost  me  three 


160     Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

thousand  francs  in  reviews,  and  hasn't  yet  brought 
me  in  a  thousand.  I  paid  for  Blondet's  two  articles 
one  thousand  francs  and  a  dinner  which  cost  five 
hundred  —  " 

"But,  monsieur,  if  all  publishers  said  that,  how 
would  a  first  book  ever  get  published?  "  asked  Lucien, 
in  whose  e3'es  Blondet  had  a  sudden  fall  in  value  when 
he  learned  the  price  Dauriat  had  paid  for  the  articles  in 
the  "Debats." 

"That  doesn't  concern  me,"  replied  Dauriat  with 
a  murderous  glance  at  the  handsome  3'outh,  who  was 
smiling  at  him  agreeably.  "  For  my  part,  I  don't  pub- 
lish books  on  which  I  risk  two  thousand  francs  to  make 
two  thousand.  I  speculate  in  literature.  I  publish 
forty  volumes  of  ten  thousand  copies  each,  as  Panc- 
kouke  and  the  Beaudouins  do.  M}^  name  and  the  re- 
views I  procure  make  it  a  matter  of  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  francs,  instead  of  merely  two  thousand  for 
a  single  volume.  It  would  give  me  more  trouble  to 
push  a  new  author  and  his  book  than  it  does  to  bring 
out  the  'Theatres  Etrangers,'  '  Victoires  et  Conquetes/ 
or  the  '  Memoires  sur  la  Revolution,'  all  of  which 
brought  in  a  fortune.  I  'm  not  here  to  be  made  a  step- 
ping-stone to  future  fame,  but  to  make  mone}^  and  pay 
mone}^  to  celebrated  men.  The  manuscript  that  I  buy 
for  a  hundred  thousand  francs  is  less  dear  than  that  an 
unknown  author  asks  six  hundred  for.  Though  I  'm 
not  altogether  a  Mecsenas  I  have  a  right  to  the  grati- 
tude of  literature.  I  have  already  more  than  doubled 
the  price  of  manuscripts.  I  give  3'ou  this  information 
because  3'Ou  are  a  friend  of  Lousteau,  my  little  man," 
said  Dauriat  slapping  the  poet  on  the  shoulder  with  an 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Payns.    161 

odious  gesture  of  familiarit3\  "  If  I  were  to  talk  with 
all  the  authors  w^ho  want  me  to  be  their  publisher  I 
should  have  to  shut  up  shop,  for  m}-  whole  time  would 
be  spent  in  conversation,  agreeable  perhaps,  but  much 
too  costly.  I  'm  not  rich  enough  to  listen  to  the  mono- 
logues of  vanity.  No  one  ever  does  that  except  on  the 
stage  in  the  classic  tragedies.'' 

The  luxury  of  this  terrible  Dauriat's  apparel  enforced, 
to  the  eyes  of  a  provincial  poet,  the  cruel  logic  of  his 
words. 

"  What  has  he  got  there  to  publish?"  said  Dauriat 
to  Lousteau. 

"  A  volume  of  fine  verses." 

Hearing  this  replj'  Dauriat  turned  to  Gabusson  with 
a  gesture  worthy  of  Talma. 

"  Gabusson,  my  friend,  from  this  day  forth  if  any 
one  comes  here  to  offer  me  manuscripts  —  Now  listen 
to  this,  all  the  rest  of  you,"  he  said,  addressing  three 
clerks  who  appeared  from  behind  the  piles  of  books 
on  hearing  the  choleric  voice  of  their  master,  who 
was  looking  at  his  nails  and  well-shaped  hands, — 
"  remember,  when  any  one  brings  a  manuscript  you 
are  to  ask  if  it  is  prose  or  verse.  If  it  is  verse,  send 
him  away,  get  rid  of  him  ;  verses  are  the  ruin  of  the 
trade." 

"  Bravo!  well  said,  Dauriat !  "  cried  all  the  journalists. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  the  publisher,  walking  up  and  down 
the  shop  with  Lucien's  manuscript  in  his  hand.  "  You 
don't  know,  gentlemen,  what  evils  Lord  B^Ton's  suc- 
cess and  Victor  Hugo's,  Lamartine's,  Casimir  De- 
lavigne's,  and  Beranger's  have  produced.  Their  fame 
has  brought  down  upon  us  a  horde  of  barbarians.     I 

11 


162     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  iii  Paris, 

am  positive  there  are  thousands  of  poems  in  the  hands 
of  publishers  at  this  very  moment  beginning  in  the 
middle,  and  without  head  or  tail,  lilie  'The  Corsair' 
and  '  Lara.'  Young  men  rush  into  incomprehensible 
strophes  and  call  it  originalit}',  and  dash  off  descriptive 
poems,  and  think  they  are  making  a  new  school,  when 
they  are  only  reviving  Delille.  For  the  last  two  years 
poets  have  swarmed  like  cockchafers  ;  I  lost  twent}' 
thousand  francs  on  them  last  3'ear  !  —  ask  Gabusson. 
There  may  be  immortal  poets  in  the  world  ;  I  know 
some  fresh  and  rosy  ones  that  don't  3'et  shave  ;  but  to 
the  publishing  trade,  3'oung  man,"  he  said  turning  to 
Lucien,  "  there  are  but  four  poets  :  Beranger,  Casimir 
Delavigne,  Lamartine,  and  Victor  Hugo ;  as  for  Ca- 
nalis  !  —  he  's  a  poet  made  by  reviewers." 

Lucien  had  not  the  nerve  to  pull  himself  up  and  show 
pride  before  those  men  of  influence  who  were  all  laugh- 
ing heartil}',  —  he  felt  he  should  onl}"  cover  himself  with 
ridicule  ;  but  all  the  same  a  violent  longing  seized  him 
to  spring  at  the  throat  of  that  publisher  and  destroy  the 
insulting  perfection  of  his  cravat,  and  break  the  chain 
that  glittered  on  his  waistcoat.  His  infuriated  self- 
love  opened  a  door  in  his  mind  to  vengeance,  and  he 
swore  a  deadlv  enmitv  to  that  man  on  whom  he  smiled. 

"Poetry  is  like  the  sun,  which  starts  the  growth  of 
primeval  forests  and  begets  flies  and  gnats,"  said  Blon- 
det.  "  There  is  no  virtue  that  is  n't  lined  with  a  vice. 
Literature  begets  publishers." 

"And  journalists,"  said  Lousteau. 

Dauriat  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  is  this  anyhow  ? "  he  said  tapping  the 
manuscript. 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    163 

"A  collection  of  sonnets  that  would  make  Petrarch 
ashamed,"  replied  Lonsteau. 

"  How  do  3'ou  intend  that  remark?"  asked  Dauriat. 

"  As  most  persons  would,"  answered  Lousteau,  see- 
ing a  sly  smile  on  the  lips  of  those  present. 

Lucien  could  not  be  angry,  but  he  sweated  under  his 
harness. 

^'Well,  I  '11  read  it,"  said  Dauriat,  with  a  royal  gesture, 
meant  to  show  the  full  importance  of  this  concession. 
"  If  3'our  sonnets  are  up  to  the  level  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  I  '11  make  a  great  poet  of  you,  my  little  man." 

"  If  his  talent  is  equal  to  his  beauty  you  won't  run 
great  risks,"  said  one  of  the  most  famous  orators  of  the 
Chamber,  who  was  standing  near,  conversing  with  a 
reporter  for  the  ' '  Constitutionnel "  and  the  editor  of 
the  "Minerve." 

"General,"  said  Dauriat,  " fame  is  only  made  by 
twelve  thousand  francs'  worth  of  newspaper  articles  and 
three  thousand  francs'  worth  of  dinners  ;  ask  the  author 
of  '  Le  Solitaire,'  whether  that's  not  so.  If  Monsieur 
Benjamin  Constant  will  consent  to  write  an  article  on 
this  young  poet,  I  will  not  hesitate  to  come  to  terms 
with  him." 

As  the  great  man  of  the  provinces  heard  the  title 
"General"  and  the  name  of  the  illustrious  Benjamin 
Constant,  the  shabby  shop  took  on  the  proportions  of 
Olympus. 

"  Lousteau,  I  want  to  speak  to  3'ou,"  said  Finot ; 
"but  we  shall  meet  at  the  theatre.  Dauriat,  I'll  take 
3'our  offer  on  certain  conditions.  Come  into  jour 
office.'' 

"Very  good,  come  on,  my  boy,"  said  Dauriat,  motion- 


164     Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

ing  Finot  to  precede  him,  and  making  the  gesture  of  a 
bus}^  man  to  a  dozen  others  who  were  trj'ing  to  speak 
to  him  ;  he  was  just  disappearing  when  Lucien,  losing 
patience,  stopped  him. 

"You  have  my  manuscript,"  he  said ;  "when  am  I 
to  have  an  answer  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  little  poet,  you  may  come  back  in  three 
or  four  days,  and  I  '11  see  about  it." 

Lucien  was  dragged  away  by  Lousteau,  who  would 
not  give  him  time  to  bow  to  Vernou,  or  Blondet,  or 
Raoul  Nathan,  or  General  Foy,  or  Benjamin  Constant, 
whose  work  on  the  Hundred  Days  had  just  appeared. 
Lucien  had  scarcely  time  to  see  that  refined  fair  head, 
with  its  oval  face  and  spiritual  eyes  and  charming 
mouth,  — the  face  of  the  man  who  for  twent}^  j-ears  was 
the  Potemkin  of  Madame  de  Stael,  who  made  war  upon 
the  Bourbons  after  making  it  on  Napoleon,  and  was 
destined  to  die  horrified  at  his  victor3\ 

"  What  a  place  that  is  !  "  cried  Lucien  as  he  took  his 
place  in  a  cab  beside  Lousteau. 

"  Panorama-Dramatique,  — and  as  fast  as  you  can  ; 
thirty  sous  for  j'our  fare  !  "  called  Etienne  to  the  cab- 
man. "  Yes  ;  Dauriat  is  a  rascal  who  sells  from  fifteen 
to  sixteen  hundred  thousand  francs'  worth  of  books 
yearly  ;  you  might  call  him  the  minister  of  literature," 
said  Lousteau,  whose  vanity  was  pleasantly  tickled,  and 
who  now  posed  as  instructor  to  Lucien.  "  His  cu- 
pidity, quite  equal  to  that  of  Barbet,  is  on  a  grand 
scale.  Dauriat  has  his  own  wa3S,  however ;  he  can  be 
generous,  but  he  is  always  vain.  As  for  his  mind, 
that 's  made  up  of  what  he  hears  around  him  ;  his  shop 
is  a  very  good  place  to  frequent ;  j-ou  can  get  into  con- 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    165 

versation  there  with  the  leading  men  of  the  day.  A 
young  man  can  learn  more  there,  my  dear  fellow,  in 
one  hour  than  he  can  in  hanging  over  books  for  a  year. 
There  they  discuss  articles  and  start  new  topics,  and  a 
man  can  attach  himself  to  celebrated  or  influential 
persons  who  may  be  very  useful  to  him.  It  is  most 
important  in  these  days  to  make  connections.  All  is 
mere  chance,  as  you  can  see  by  this  time.  The  most 
dangerous  thing  is  to  have  an  intellect  kept  hidden  in 
a   corner." 

"  But  that  fellow  is  so  impertinent,"  said  Lucien. 

"Pooh!  we  all  laugh  at  Dauriat,"  replied  Etienne. 
"  If  you  have  need  of  him  he  '11  trample  j'ou  underfoot ; 
but  he  needs  the  'Journal  des  Debats,'  and  Emile  Blon- 
det  twirls  him  like  a  top.  Oh  I  if  3'ou  are  determined  to 
enter  literature  you  '11  see  many  such  things.  What 
did  I  tell  you?" 

"  Yes,  you  were  right,"  answered  Lucien,  "but  I 
suffered  in  that  shop  more  cruell}'  than  I  expected,  even 
after  what  you  said." 

"Then  why  do  you  put  yourself  in  the  way  of  such 
suffering?  I  tell  you  that  the  things  that  cost  us  our 
life,  the  subjects  which  tear  our  brains  through  studious 
nights,  the  fields  of  thought  we  toil  among,  the  work  we 
build  and  cement  with  our  blood,  are  to  publishers 
merely  a  paying  or  a  non-paying  venture.  They  sell  or 
they  don't  sell  your  work,  —  that 's  the  whole  problem 
to  them.  A  book  to  them  is  only  a  risk  of  capital. 
The  finer  the  book,  the  less  chance  it  has  of  selling. 
All  superior  minds  are  above  the  masses  ;  their  success 
depends  therefore  on  the  necessary  time  it  takes  for 
their  work  to  be   appreciated.     No  publisher  is  willing 


166     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

to  wait  for  that.  The  book  of  to-day  must  be  sold  to- 
morrow. Publishers  will  refuse  books  of  real  substance 
which  advance  slowlj^  to  high  appreciation." 

"  D'Arthez  was  right !  "  cried  Lucien. 

"Do  you  know  d'Arthez?  "  said  Lousteau.     "  There 

I 

is  nothing  more  dangerous  than  solitar}'  minds  that  ex- 
pect, as  that  poor  fellow  does,  to  bring  the  world  to  their 
feet.  B}^  fanaticizing  their  3'oung  imaginations  with  a 
belief  that  merely  flatters  their  inward  sense  of  power, 
such  foolish  awaiters  of  posthumous  glory  are  prevented 
from  bestirring  themselves  at  an  age  when  movement 
is  possible  and  profitable.  I  'm  for  Mohammed's 
system  :  after  ordering  the  mountain  to  come  to  him  he 
cried  out,  '  If  3'ou  don't  come  to  me,  I  '11  go  to  3'ou.'  ^' 

This  sail}',  in  which  reason  was  the  incisive  force, 
made  Lucien  hesitate  in  mind  between  the  system  of 
laborious  and  submissive  poverty  inculcated  b}'  the 
brotherhood  and  the  doctrine  of  aggression  which 
Lousteau  expounded  to  him.  The  poet  of  Angouleme 
kept  silence  after  that  until  they  reached  the  boulevard 
du  Temple. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    167 


XI. 

BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 

The  Panorama-Dramatique,  the  site  of  which  is  now 
occupied  b}^  a  private  house,  was  then  a  charming- 
theatre  standing  opposite  to  the  rue  Chariot  on  the 
boulevard  du  Temple,  which  failed  of  success  under  two 
managements,  although  Bouffe,  an  actor  who  inherited 
Potier's  fame,  made  his  first  appearance  there  ;  also 
Florine,  who,  five  3'ears  later,  became  a  noted  actress. 
Theatres,  like  men,  are  doomed  sometimes  to  fatalit}'. 
The  Panorama-Dramatique  was  forced  into  competition 
with  the  Ambigu,  the  Gaite,  the  Porte-Saint-Martin,  and 
the  vaudeville  theatres  ;  it  was  unable  to  withstand 
their  intrigues,  the  restrictions  placed  upon  its  privi- 
leges, and  the  lack  of  good  pla3's.  Authors  are  afraid 
of  displeasing  successful  theatres  by  working  for  a  new 
establishment  the  future  of  which  is  doubtful.  How- 
ever, at  the  present  moment  the  management  was 
counting  on  a  new  piece,  a  sort  of  comic  melodrama  bj^ 
a  3'oung  author,  the  collaborator  of  several  celebrities, 
named  Du  Bruel,  who  claimed  that  he  bad  written  this 
pla}'  alone.  It  was  brought  out  for  the  first  appearance 
of  Florine,  until  then  a  subordinate  actress  at  the  Gaite, 
where  for  the  last  3'ear  she  had  played  insignificant 
roles  successfully',  without,  however,  obtaining  a  good 


l68     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

engagement.  The  Panorama  had  therefore  abducted 
her  from  its  rival.  Another  actress,  named  Coralie, 
was  also  to  make  her  first  appearance  on  this  occasion. 

When  the  two  young  men  arrived  Lucien  was  as- 
tonished by  a  new  example  of  the  power  of  the  press. 

"  Monsieur  is  with  me,"  said  Etienne  to  a  door- 
keeper, who  bowed  low. 

"  You  will  find  it  hard  to  get  a  seat,"  said  the  head- 
doorkeeper ;  "there  is  nothing  available  but  the  man- 
ager's box." 

Etienne  and  Lousteau  lost  some  time  in  wandering 
through  the  corridors  and  negotiating  with  the  box- 
openers. 

' '  Let  us  go  into  the  green-room  and  speak  to  the 
manager,"  said  Lousteau  ;  "  he  will  take  us  into  his  box. 
I  '11  present  you  to  Florine,  the  heroine  of  the  evening." 

At  a  sign  from  Lousteau  the  porter  of  the  stalls  took 
a  small  key  and  opened  a  hidden  door  made  in  a  wall. 
Lucien  followed  his  friend  and  passed  instantly  from 
the  brilliantly  lighted  corridor  to  a  dark  hole,  which,  in 
nearly  every  theatre,  is  the  means  of  communication 
between  the  auditorium  and  the  part  called  in  general 
terms,  "behind  the  scenes."  After  mounting  a  few 
damp  stairs  the  provincial  poet  entered  the  latter  region, 
where  the  strangest  sight  awaited  him.  The  narrow- 
ness of  the  passage-ways,  the  enormous  height  of  the 
roof,  the  lamplighters'  ladders,  the  various  decorations 
horrible  to  behold  near-by,  the  whitened  actors,  their 
singular  garments  made  of  the  commonest  materials, 
the  scene-shifters  with  greasy  jackets,  the  hanging 
ropes,  the  stage  manager  walking  about  with  his  hat  on 
his  head,  the  waiting  supernumeraries,  the  scenery  sus- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     169 

pended  over-head,  the  fire-buckets  and  the  firemen, — 
in  short,  the  whole  assemblage  of  things  absurd,  dismal, 
dirty,  hideous,  and  tawdr}^  was  so  little  like  what  Lu- 
cien  had  seen  from  his  seat  in  the  theatre  that  his 
amazement  was  uncontrollable. 

A  good,  old-fashioned  melodrama,  called  "  Bertram," 
was  just  ending,  —  a  play  adapted  from  a  tragedy  by 
Maturin,  greatly  admired  by  Nodier,  Lord  Byron,  and 
Walter  Scott,  but  wholly  without  success  on  the  French 
stage. 

"  Don't  let  go  my  arm  unless  3'ou  wish  to  fall  through 
some  trap,  or  receive  a  forest  on  your  head,  or  knock 
over  a  palace,  or  carry  off  a  cottage,"  said  Lousteau. 
"  Is  Florine  in  her  dressing-room,  my  beauty?  "  he  said 
to  an  actress  who  was  waiting  her  cue  to  go  upon  the 
stage. 

' '  Yes,  my  love  ;  and  thank  you  for  what  you  said  about 
me  ;  you  are  so  much  nicer  since  Florine  joined  us." 

"Take  care!  don't  miss  your  entrance  effect,  ni}^ 
dear,"  said  Lousteau.  '•'  Rush  on,  hands  up !  sa}'  it 
well :  '  Pause,  wretched  man  ! '  The  house  is  full, 
receipts  immense." 

Lucien  was  amazed  to  see  the  actress  collect  herself 
and  then  rush  on,  exclaiming :  "  Pause,  wretched 
man  !  "  in  tones  of  horror.  She  was  no  longer  the  same 
woman. 

"  So  this  is  the  theatre  !  "  he  said  to  Lousteau. 

''Just  the  same  thing  as  the  pubhshing  concern  in 
the  Galeries  de  Bois,  or  literature  in  a  newspaper  office, 
—  a  regular  cook-shop,"  responded  his  new  friend. 

Nathan  appeared. 

"  Whom  have  you  come  to  see  ?  "  asked  Lousteau. 


170     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"I'm  doing  the  lesser  theatres  for  the  'Gazette,'  till 
I  get  something  better,"  replied  Nathan. 

"  Then  come  to  supper  to-night,  and  say  good  things 
for  Florine  in  return,"  said  Loustcau. 

"  At  your  service,"  answered  Nathan. 

"  You  know  she  lives  now  in  the  rue  de  Bond  v." 

"  Who  is  that  handsome  young  man,  m}'  little  Lou- 
steau?"  said  the  actress,  coming  oft* the  stage. 

"  Ah,  m}'  dear,  a  great  poet !  a  man  who  is  going  to 
be  celebrated.  Monsieur  Nathan,  as  3'ou  are  to  sup 
together  allow  me  to  present  Monsieur  Lucien  de 
Rubempre." 

"  You  bear  a  distinguished  name,  monsieur,"  said 
Nathan   to    Lucien. 

"  Lucien,  Monsieur  Raoul  Nathan,"  added  Lousteau. 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  said  Lucien,  "I  was  reading  3-ou 
only  two  days  ago,  and  I  cannot  understand  how,  hav- 
ing written  such  a  novel  and  such  poems,  you  could  be 
so  humble  to  that  journalist." 

"  I  shall  wait  till  you  have  published  3-our  first  book 
before  answering  3'ou,"  said  Nathan,  with  a  meaning 
smile. 

"  Bless  me !  ultras  and  liberals  shaking  hands !  " 
cried  Felicien  Vernou,  coming  upon  the  trio. 

"  In  the  morning  m3'  opinions  are  those  of  my  jour- 
nal," said  Nathan ;  "  but  at  night  I  think  as  I  please." 

"  Etienne,"  said  Vernou,  "  Finot  came  with  me,  and 
he  wants  vou  —  ah  !  here  he  is." 

"  Look  liere  !  there  is  n't  a  seat  left,"  said  Finot. 

"  There  's  always  one  in  our  hearts  for  3'OU,"  said  the 
actress,  giving  the  editor-in-chief  an  agreeable  smile. 

"  So,  so,  my  little  Florville,  3'ou  have  got  over  your 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    171 

love-affair,  have  you  ?  I  thought  3'ou  were  carried  off 
by  a  Russian  prince." 

"Nobody  carries  off  women  now-a-da3's,"  said  la 
Florville,  the  actress  who  had  just  declaimed,  "Pause, 
wretched  man!"  "We  stayed  ten  days  at  Saint- 
Mande,  and  the  prince  paid  a  proper  indemnity  to  the 
management.  And  the  management,"  she  added,  laugh- 
ing, "  is  now  praying  God  for  more  Russian  princes  ; 
indemnities  are  receipts  without  costs." 

"And  you,  little  one,"  said  Finot  to  a  prett}'  peas- 
ant-girl who  was  listening  to  them,  '•  where  did  you  get 
those  diamond  earrings  ?  Have  you  captured  an  Indian 
rajah?" 

"  No,  onl}'  a  man  who  sells  blacking,  an  Englishman  ; 
and  he  is  gone  already !  It  is  not  so  easy  to  get  hold, 
like  Florine  and  Corahe,  of  millionnaire  shop-keepers 
tired  of  their  homes  ;  are  n't  they  luck}-,  those  two?  " 

"You'll  miss  your  entrance,  Florville,"  cried 
Lousteau. 

"If  you  want  to  make  a  stroke,"  said  Nathan,  "in- 
stead of  screaming  like  a  fur}-,  '  He  is  saved  !  '  go  on 
calmly  and  walk  to  the  footlights  and  say  in  a  chest 
voice, '  He  is  saved,'  — just  as  Talma  says, '  O  patria,'  in 
Tancredi.     Come,  go  along,"  he  added,  pushing  her. 

"  It  is  too  late,"  said  Vernou  ;  "  she  lost  her  chance." 

"What  did  she  do?  just  hear  the  applause!"  said 
Lousteau. 

"  She  went  down  on  her  knees  and  showed  her 
bosom  ;  that 's  her  great  resource,"  said  the  widow  of 
the  blacking. 

"  The  manager  has  given  us  his  box ;  you'll  find  me 
there,"  said  Finot  to  Etienne. 


172     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Lousteau  then  took  Lucien  behind  the  stage  and 
through  a  labyrinth  of  corridors  and  stairwaj^s  until, 
accompanied  by  Nathan  and  Vernou,  the}'  reached  a 
small  room  on  the  third  floor. 

"  Good-evening,  gentlemen,"  said  Florine.  "Mon- 
sieur," she  added,  turning  to  a  short,  stout  man,  who 
stood  in  a  corner,  ' '  these  are  the  arbiters  of  my  fate  ; 
m}'  future  is  in  their  hands  ;  nevertheless,  I  hope  the}' 
will  be  under  our  table  to-morrow  morning,  —  if  Mon- 
sieur Lousteau  has  forgotten  nothing." 

"Forgotten!  no!  you  will  have  Blondet  of  the 
'Debats,'  "  said  Etienne,  —  "  Blondet  himself,  the  true 
Blondet,  —  Blondet,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"Oh,  my  little  Lousteau,  I  '11  kiss  3'ou  for  that,"  cried 
the  actress,  throwing  her  arms  round  the  journalist's 
neck. 

At  this  demonstration,  Matifat,  the  stout  man  in  the 
corner,  looked  serious.  At  sixteen,  Florine  was  thin. 
Her  beaut}',  like  a  flower-bud  full  of  promise,  could 
onl}'  please  artists  who  prefer  sketches  to  pictures. 
This  charming  actress  had  a  delicacy  of  feature  which 
characterized  her  and  gave  her  a  likeness  to  Goethe's 
Mignon.  Matifat,  a  rich  druggist  in  the  rue  des  Lom- 
bards, had  supposed  that  a  little  actress  of  a  boulevard 
theatre  would  not  be  expensive.  Instead  of  that  she 
had  cost  him  in  eleven  months  over  sixt}-  thousand 
francs.  Nothing  had,  as  yet,  seemed  more  extraor- 
dinar}"  to  Lucien  than  the  spectacle  of  that  respectable 
shopkeeper  planted  like  a  Hermes  in  this  ten-foot  dress- 
ing-room ;  which  was  hung  with  a  prett}' paper,  fur- 
nished with  a  ps3'che-glass,  a  sofa,  two  chairs,  a  carpet, 
a  fireplace,  and  full  of  closets.     A  waiting-maid  was 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      173 

putting  the  last  touches  to  the  actress's  dress,  which 
was  Spanish.  The  piece  was  a  complicated  drama,  in 
which  Florine  pla3ed  the  part  of  a  countess. 

"In  five  years  that  o-irl  will  be  the  handsomest  ac- 
tress  in  Paris,"  said  Nathan  to  Vernou. 

"  Ah,  mj  dear  loves,"  said  Florine  to  the  three  jour- 
nalists, "  be  good  to  me  to-morrow.  In  the  first  place,  I 
have  engaged  carriages  to-night,  for3'Ou  will  all  go  home 
as  drunk  as  Csesar.  Matifat  has  wines,  —  oh  !  such 
wines !  worthy  of  Louis  XVIII.,  and  he  has  hired  the 
cook  of  the  Prussian  minister.'" 

"  We  expect  enormous  things  in  meeting  monsieur," 
said  Nathan. 

' '  He  knows  he  is  entertaining  the  most  dangerous 
men  in  Paris,"  replied  Florine. 

Matifat  looked  at  Lucien  uneasil}^,  for  the  3'oung 
man's  beaut}'  roused  his  jealous}*. 

"  But  here  is  some  one  I  don't  know,"  said  Florine, 
looking  at  the  poet.  "  Which  of  you  has  brought  the 
Apollo  Belvedere  from  Florence?  Monsieur  is  as 
charming  as  a  figure  of  Girodet." 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Lousteau,  "Monsieur  Lucien 
de  Rubempre  is  a  poet  from  the  provinces.  Forgive 
me  for  not  presenting  him,  but  you  are  so  beautiful  this 
evening  that  you  have  made  me  forget  matter-of-fact 
and  empty  civility." 

"Is  he  rich  enough  to  write  poetry?"  asked  Florine. 

"  Poor  as  Job,"  replied  Lucien. 

"  How  tempting  for  us  !  "  exclaimed  the  actress. 

Du  Bruel,  the  author  of  the  piece  in  which  Florine 
was  about  to  make  her  debut,  now  came  hastily  into  the 
room.     He  was  a  short,  slender  young  man,  wearing  a 


174       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

frock-coat ;  and  his  general  air  was  something  between 
a  government  official,  a  broker,  and  a  property  owner. 

"  My  dear  little  Florine,  are  3'ou  sure  3^ou  know  3'our 
part,  he}^  ?  No  break-down  of  memory,  j^ou  know.  Be 
careful  about  that  scene  in  the  second  act ;  it  needs  to 
be  incisive,  sarcastic.  Mind  3'ou  say,  *I  do  not  love 
3'ou,'  in  the  wa}^  we  agreed  on." 

"  Why  doj'on  take  parts  in  which  there  are  sentences 
like  that  ?  "  said  Matifat. 

A  general  laugh  followed  this  inquiry  of  the  worths- 
druggist. 

"  What  does  that  matter  to  3'ou  if  I  don't  sa3'  it  to 
S^^ou,  old  stupid  ?  "  said  the  actress.  "  Oh  !  he 's  the  J03' 
of  m3'  life  with  his  stupidities,"  she  added,  turning  to 
the  others.  '  '■  On  the  word  of  an  honest  girl  I  would 
pa3'^  him  in  kind  if  it  would  n't  ruin  me." 

''Yes,  but  3-0U  will  look  at  me  when  3^ou  say  it,  just 
as  3'Ou  have  been  doing  when  3^ou  learned  3'our  part, 
and  I  don't  like  it,"  persisted  Matifat. 

''  Ver3'  good,  then  I  '11  look  at  my  little  Lousteau," 
said  the  actress. 

A  bell  rang  in  the  corridors. 

"  There,  go  awa3^  all  of  you,"  said  Florine,  "  and  let 
me  read  over  m3"  part  and  try  to  understand  it." 

Lucien  and  Lousteau  were  the  last  to  leave  the  room. 
Lousteau  kissed  Florine's  shoulders,  and  Lucien  heard 
her  say,  — 

"Impossible  to-night;  that  old  stupid  has  told  his 
wife  he  was  going  into  the  countr3\" 

"Isn't  she  prett3'?"    said  Etienne  to  Lucien. 

"Yes,  m3^  dear  fellow;  but  —  Matifat?"  cried 
Lucien. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       175 

"He}',  m}'  dear  bo}',  \o\\  don't  know  anything  as 
3'et  of  Parisian  life,"  replied  Lousteau.  "There  are 
things  one  is  forced  to  put  up  with.  It  is  the  same 
as  being  the  lover  of  a  married  woman,  that's  all." 

Etienne  and  Lucien  now  went  to  one  of  the  prosce- 
nium boxes  on  the  ground-floor,  where  they  found  the 
manager  of  the  theatre  and  Finot.  Matifat  was  in  the 
box  directly  opposite,  with  a  friend  of  his,  —  a  silk 
mercer  named  Camusot,  who  "  protected "  Coralie, 
and  a  sturdj^,  little  old  man,  his  father-in-law.  The 
three  tradesmen  polished  their  opera  glasses  and 
looked  at  the  pit,  the  tumultuous  excitement  of  which 
seemed  to  make  them  uneasy.  The  boxes  presented 
the  usual  queer  society  which  appears  at  a  first  repre- 
sentation,— journalists  and  their  mistresses  ;  old  habi- 
tues who  never  miss  a  first  night ;  persons  of  good 
societ}'  who  like  such  emotions.  In  a  box  on  the  first 
tier  with  his  family  was  the  minister  of  finance,  who 
had  given  Du  Bruel  a  place  in  his  bureau,  where  the 
maker  of  plays  received  the  salary  and  perquisites 
of  a  sinecure.  Lucien,  in  the  short  period  since  his 
dinner,  had  gone  from  one  astonishment  to  another. 
Literarv  life,  which  for  the  last  two  months  had  seemed 
to  him  so  povert3'-stricken  in  his  own  experience,  —  so 
barren,  so  horrible  in  Lousteau's  room  ;  so  humble  and 
yet  so  insolent  in  the  Galeries  du  Bois,  —  now  took  on 
a  strange  magnificence  under  divers  singular  aspects. 
This  jumble  of  things  noble  and  base ;  these  compro- 
mises with  conscience  ;  this  mingling  of  superiority  and 
meanness,  treacher}'  and  pleasure,  grandeur  and  servi- 
tude, bewildered  him  as  though  he  were  gazing  at  some 
unnatural,  unheard-of  show. 


176       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

^'  Do  3'ou  think  this  pla}^  of  Dii  Bruel's  will  stand  you 
in  money  ?  "  asked  Finot  of  the  manager. 

'^Well,  it  is  a  play  with  a  plot  in  which  Dn  Bruel 
has  tried  to  be  Beaumarchais.  The  boulevard  public 
does  n't  like  that  style ;  it  wants  to  be  convulsed  with 
emotions.  Intellect  is  never  appreciated  here.  Ever}'- 
thing  depends  to-night  on  Florine  and  Coralie,  who  are 
reall}^  ravishing  in  grace  and  beaut}'.  They  are  wear- 
ing very  short  skirts,  and  they  do  a  Spanish  dance 
which  ma}'  carry  the  public  off  its  feet.  This  represen- 
tation is  about  the  same  as  a  game  of  chance.  If  the 
newspapers  give  me  a  few  lively  articles  and  make  it 
a  success,  I  may  get  two  or  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  out  of  the  piece." 

"Ah  !  I  see  ;  it  will  only  be  a  succes  d'estime  in  any 
case,"  said  Finot. 

"There's  an  organized  cabal  from  the  three  other 
boulevard  theatres,  who  will  hiss  the  play  anyhow ;  but 
I  have  taken  measures  to  balk  it.  I  have  paid  the 
claqueurs  who  are  sent  against  me,  and  they'll  hiss 
stupidly.  Those  two  shopkeepers  over  there  have  each, 
m  order  to  secure  a  triumph  to  Coralie  and  Florine, 
taken  a  hundred  tickets  and  given  them  to  acquaint- 
ances who  will  applaud  enough  to  silence  the  cabal. 
The  claqueurs^  paid  twice  over,  will  let  themselves  be 
drowned ;  and  that  always  has  a  good  effect  on  the 
public." 

"  Two  hundred  tickets  !  —  what  precious  men  ! "  ex- 
claimed Finot. 

"  Yes  ;  if  I  had  two  other  actresses  as  handsomely 
kept  as  Florine  and  Coralie  I  should  feel  secure." 

For  the  last  two  hours  everything  to  Lucien's  ears 


Great  Ma-ti  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    177 

had  turned  on  money.  At  the  theatre  as  with  the  pub- 
lishers, with  the  publishers  as  with  the  newspapers, 
there  was  no  thought  of  art  or  fame.  These  blows  of 
the  great  pendulum  of  Money  striking  on  his  head  and 
on  his  heart  tortured  him.  While  the  orchestra  pla3'ed 
the  overture  he  could  not  help  contrasting  the  applause 
and  hisses  of  the  excited  audience  with  the  calm,  pure 
scenes  of  poes}'  and  aspiration  he  had  known  in  David's 
printing-room,  where  together  the  two  poets  had  visions 
of  the  marvels  of  art,  the  noble  triumphs  of  genius,  the 
white  wings  of  Fame.  Then  he  remembered  his  even- 
ings with  the  brotherhood,  and  tears  filled  his  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Lousteau,  noticing 
them. 

"I  see  poesy  in  the  gutter,"  he  answered. 

"  He}',  my  dear  fellow,  full  of  illusions  still !  " 

"But  must  a  man  crawl  on  his  bell}'  and  submit  to 
those  fat  Matifats  and  Camusots,  as  actresses  submit 
to  journalists,  and  we  submit  to  publishers?" 

"  Look  here,  3'oung  one,"  whispered  Lousteau,  with 
a  motion  towards  Finot.  "You  see  that  clumsy  fel- 
low, without  mind  or  talent,  but  grasping  ;  resolved  on 
making  money  b}'  any  means,  and  clever  at  that.  You 
saw  him  in  Dauriat's  shop  cut  me  off  ten  per  cent  on 
that  note  of  Barbet's,  with  an  air  as  if  he  were  doing 
me  a  favor?  Well,  that  fellow  has  letters  from  several 
dawning  men  of  genius  who  go  down  on  their  knees  to 
him  to  get  a  hundred  francs." 

Disgust  choked   Lucien's    heart  as  he  remembered 

the  drawing  he  had  seen  on  the  green  table  of  the 

newspaper  office,  and  its  legend,  "Finot,  my  hundred 

francs ! " 

12 


178     Gi^eat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  I  'd  rather  die  !  "  he  said. 

"  You  'd  better  live,"  replied  Lousteau. 

When  the  curtain  rose  the  manager  left  the  box  to 
give  certain  orders  behind  the  scenes. 

"  My  dear  Etienne,"  said  Finot,  as  soon  as  the  man- 
ager was  out  of  hearing,  "  I've  arranged  with  Dauriat, 
and  I'm  to  have  a  third  in  the  weekly  paper.  The 
agreement  is  thirty  thousand  francs  down  on  condition 
that  I  am  made  editor-in-chief  and  director.  It  is  a 
splendid  affair.  Blondet  tells  me  the  gOA^ernment  are 
preparing  restrictive  laws  against  the  f)i'ess,  and  none 
but  existing  newspapers  will  escape  them.  Six  months 
hence  it  will  cost  a  million  to  start  a  new  paper.  I 
have  therefore  clinched  the  bargain,  though  I  don't 
own  at  the  present  moment  more  than  ten  thousand 
francs.  Now,  listen  to  me.  If  you  can  get  Matifat 
to  buy  half  my  share  —  that  is,  one  sixth  —  for  thirty 
thousand  francs,  I  '11  make  over  to  3'ou  the  whole  man- 
agement as  editor-in-chief  of  my  '- petit  journal'  and 
two  hundred  and  fift}'  francs  a  month.  You  shall  be 
my  locum-tenens.  Of  course  I  shall  still  direct  the 
paper  and  keep  all  m}'  interests  in  it,  but  without  ap- 
pearing to  do  so.  All  articles  will  be  paid  to  you  at 
the  rate  of  a  hundred  sous  a  column  ;  therefore  3'ou  can 
make  3'ourself  a  bonus  of  fifteen  francs  by  pacing  onlj' 
three  francs,  and  profiting  b}'  the  gratuitous  editing. 
That  will  be  at  least  four  hundred  and  fifty  francs  a 
month.  I  must  be  master,  and  free  to  attack  or  de- 
fend men  or  matters  as  I  choose  ;  but  3'ou  may  satisfy' 
all  your  friendships  and  hatreds,  as  long  as  3'ou  don't 
interfere  with  m}'  polic}'.  I  may  be  ministerial  or  ultra; 
I  am  not  sure  as  3'et :   but  I  mean  to  keep  in  hand  all 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     179 

my  liberal  connections.  I  tell  3'ou  this  frankly  because 
3'ou're  a  good  fellow  and  I  can  trust  30U.  Perhaps 
I'll  let  3'ou  do  the  Chambers  for  that  other  paper  I  am 
on,  for  I  doubt  if  I  can  keep  them.  Now,  set  Florine 
on  this  bit  of  jockeying ;  tell  her  to  press  the  button 
hard  on  her  druggist ;  I  am  allowed  only  forty-eight 
hours  to  give  up  the  arrangement  if  I  find  I  can't  pos- 
sibly raise  the  money.  Dauriat  has  sold  the  other  third 
to  his  printer  and  paper-maker.  He  gets  his  own  third 
for  nothing,  and  ten  thousand  francs  to  boot,  for  the 
whole  concern  cost  him  only  fifty  thousand.  In  a  3^ear 
from  now  it  will  be  worth  two  hundred  thousand  to 
the  court  to  buy  us  out,  if  the  king  has,  as  the}'  say  he 
has,  the  good  sense  to  intend  to  buy  up  the  press." 

"  You  are  a  lucky  fellow  !  "  cried  Lousteau. 

"If  you  had  gone  through  the  wretchedness  that  I 
have  you  wouldn't  say  that,"  replied  Finot.  "And 
eyen  now  I  'm  the  yictim  of  a  misfortune  that  can't  be 
remedied.  I  am  the  son  of  a  hat-maker  who  still  sells 
hats  in  the  rue  du  Coq.  Nothing  but  a  revolution  can 
ever  put  me  sociall}'  where  I  ought  to  be.  One  of  two 
things  I  must  have,  —  either  a  general  social  upset,  or  a 
way  to  make  millions.  Of  the  two  I  don't  know  bilt 
what  a  revolution  is  easiest.  If  I  had  a  name  like  that 
of  3'our  friend  here  m}-  career  would  be  made.  Hush  ! 
here 's  the  manager.  Adieu  !  "  added  Finot,  rising  ; 
"  I  must  go  to  the  opera  ;  and  I  ma}',  perhaps,  have  a 
duel  on  hand  to-morrow.  I  have  written  and  signed 
with  an  'F.'  a  thundering'  article  against  two  daoiseuses 
who  each  has  a  general  for  her  friend.  I  have  attacked 
and  raided  the  opera." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  said  the  manager. 


180     Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

^'Yes,  the  theatres  are  all  getting  so  sting}^,"  re- 
plied Finot.  "One  tries  to  cut  me  down  in  boxes; 
another  refuses  to  subscribe  for  the  usual  fifty  copies. 
I  have  given  m}'  ultimatum  to  the  opera :  I  insist  on  a 
hundred  subscriptions  and  four  boxes  for  mj^self.  If 
they  accept,  my  paper  will  have  eight  hundred  sub- 
scribers to  supply  and  one  thousand  who  pay ;  and  I 
know  where  I  can  get  two  hundred  more  subscriptions. 
We  shall  be  twelve  hundred  by  January  — " 

"You'll  end  b}'  ruining  all  of  us,"  said  the  manager. 

"  You  !  3'ou  need  n't  complain,  with  your  ten  subscrip- 
tions. Did  n't  I  get  two  good  articles  for  3'ou  into  the 
'  Constitutionnel '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  finding  fault !  "  cried  the  manager. 

"Well,  good-night!"  said  Finot.  "Lousteau,  let 
me  have  an  answer  to-morrow  at  the  Frangais,  where 
there 's  a  first  representation ;  I  can't  write  the  article 
myself,  so  you  ma}^  do  it  and  have  m}^  box.  I  give  3'ou 
the  preference ;  you  've  worked  3-ourself  to  death  for 
me,  and  I'm  grateful.  Felicien  Vernou  offers  to  pay 
twenty  thousand  francs,  and  give  up  all  salary  and 
emoluments  for  one  year,  for  a  third  of  the  paper ;  but 
I  have  refused  ;  I  want  to  remain  sole  master  of  it. 
Adieu  !  " 

"  Knave  ! "  muttered  Lucien  to  Lousteau. 

''Yes,  a  gallows-bird,  who'll  make  his  wa}^  all  the 
same,"  replied  Etienne,  indifi'erent  as  to  whether  he 
were  heard  or  not  bv  the  shrewd  fellow  who  was  clos- 
ing  the  door  of  the  box. 

"  He?  "  said  the  manager  ;  "  he '11  be  a  millionnaire, 
and  win  general  respect,  and  probably  friends." 

"Good   God!"    cried  Lucien;    "what   a   cave   of 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      181 

iniquity  !  Lousteau,"  he  continued,  dropping  his  voice 
and  looking  at  Florine,  who  was  casting  her  glances  at 
them,  "you  are  surel}'  not  going  to  defile  that  charm- 
ing girl  with  such  a  negotiation  ?  " 

"  She'll  succeed.  You  don't  know  the  cleverness  and 
devotion  of  those  dear  creatures,"  replied  Lousteau. 

"They  redeem  their  faults  and  wipe  out  all  their 
wrong-doings  by  the  intensity  of  their  love  when  they 
do  love,"  said  the  manager.  "  The  genuine  love  of  an 
actress  is  all  the  finer  from  the  contrast  it  makes  to  her 
surroundings." 

**It  is  hke  finding  in  the  mud  a  diamond  worthy  of 
the  proudest  crown  on  earth,"  added  Lousteau. 

"But,"  said  the  director  presently',  "do  you  notice 
Coralie  ?  She  is  n't  thinking  of  what  she  's  about.  Your 
handsome  friend  here  has  turned  her  head.  She's 
missing  her  effects.  There,  that 's  the  second  time  she 
has  failed  to  hear  the  prompter.  Monsieur,  I  do  beg 
of  3'ou,  sit  out  of  sight  in  this  corner.  I  shall  go  and 
tell  Coralie  3'ou  have  gone." 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Lousteau  ;  "  tell  her  that  monsieur 
will  be  at  the  supper  to-night,  and  she  can  do  what  she 
likes  with  him.  If  3'ou  tell  her  that,  she  '11  play  like 
Mademoiselle  Mars." 

The  manager  departed. 

"  M}'  dear  friend,"  said  Lucien,  "is  it  possible  that 
3'ou  have  no  scruple  in  asking  Mademoiselle  Florine  to 
get  thirt3'  thousand  francs  out  of  that  druggist  for  a 
half  share  of  a  whole  which  Finot  has  just  bought  at 
that  price  ?  —  " 

Lousteau  would  not  leave  Lucien  the  time  to  finish 
his  sentence. 


182      Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

*'  Where  do  3'ou  come  from,  my  lad?  That  druggist 
is  n't  a  man,  he  is  only  a  purse." 

' '  But  3'our  own  conscience  ?  " 

"  Conscience,  my  dear  fellow,  is  a  stick  we  take  to 
beat  our  neighbor  with ;  nobody  ever  uses  it  on  him- 
self. What  the  devil  are  you  quarrelling  with  ?  Chance 
has  done  for  3'ou  in  one  day  a  miracle  you  might  have 
waited  years  for ;  and  here  3'ou  are  finding  fault  with 
its  methods !  You  !  who  seem  to  me  to  have  a  mind, 
and  the  independence  of  ideas  which  all  intellectual 
adventurers  must  have  in  the  world  we  live  in,  —  you, 
to  dabble  in  scruples  like  a  nun  who  confesses  to  eating 
an  egg  with  concupiscence  !  If  Florine  succeeds  I  shall 
be  editor-in-chief;  I  shall  earn  a  fixed  sum  of  two  hun- 
dred and  fift3^  francs  a  month ;  I  shall  take  the  great 
theatres  and  leave  the  vaudevilles  to  Vernou  ;  and  you 
shall  put  3'our  foot  in  the  stirrup  by  taking  m3"  present 
place  in  the  Boulevard  theatres.  You  will  earn  three 
francs  a  column  and  write  one  a  da3' ;  thirt3'  a  month 
will  give  3'Ou  ninet3'  francs  ;  you  will  have  sixt3'  francs' 
worth  of  books  to  sell  to  Barbet ;  and  3^ou  can  get  ten 
tickets  monthl3',  forty  in  all,  from  each  of  the  theatres, 
which  3'Ou  will  sell  to  a  theatrical  Barbet  (I  '11  intro- 
duce him  to  you).  All  this  will  give  you  two  hundred 
francs  a  month.  Besides  which,  if  you  '11  make  yourself 
useful  to  Finot  he  will  put  a  hundred-franc  article  of 
3^ours  into  his  weekl3'  paper,  —  always  supposing  3'ou 
displa3'  talent,  for  there  the  articles  have  to  be  signed  ; 
no  dashing  off  things  an3'how  as  in  the  little  papers. 
That  will  give  3'ou,  at  the  least,  three  hundred  francs  a 
month.  M3'  dear  fellow,  there  are  men  of  genius  in 
Paris,  like  that  poor  d'Arth^z  who  dines  ever3^  da3'  at 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     183 

Flicoteaux's,  who  can't  earn  three  hundred  francs  a 
month  at  the  end  of  ten  3'ears.  You  will  make  at 
least  four  thousand  francs  a  year  with  3'our  pen,  not 
counting  what  3'ou  ma}'  get  from  publishers.  Now  a 
subprefect  gets  a  salarj'  of  onl}'  three  thousand  francs, 
and  his  life  is  as  dull  as  ditch-water  in  its  petty  round. 
I  won't  sa}'  anything  about  the  pleasure  of  going  to  the 
theatre  without  pa3'ing  for  it,  because  that  soon  gets  to 
be  a  bore  ;  but  3'Ou  will  have  a  footing  behind  the 
scenes  of  four  theatres.  Be  severe  and  witt3'  for  a 
couple  of  months  and  3'ou  '11  be  overrun  with  attentions 
of  all  kinds  from  the  actresses  ;  their  lovers  will  court 
3'Ou,  and  3'ou  '11  never  have  to  dine  at  Flicoteaux's,  — 
except  on  da3's  when  3-ou  happen  to  be  low  in  cash  and 
nobody  has  asked  you  to  dinner.  At  five  o'clock  this 
afternoon  in  the  Luxembourg,  you  did  n't  know  where  to 
la}'  your  head,  and  3'OU  are  now  on  the  eve  of  becoming 
one  of  the  hundred  privileged  persons  who  give  opin- 
ions to  France.  In  three  days,  provided  we  succeed, 
3'OU  will  be  able  with  thirt3'  sarcasms,  printed  at  the  rate 
of  three  a  da3',  to  make  a  man  curse  his  life  and  wish  he 
was  never  born  ;  you  can  get  mortgages  of  pleasure  on 
all  the  actresses  of  the  four  theatres  ;  you  can  break 
down  a  good  pla3'  and  send  all  Paris  to  applaud  a  bad 
one.  If  Dauriat  refuses  to  publish  your  '  Daisies,' 
3'Ou  can  bring  him  cringing  to  your  feet  and  make  him 
bu}'  them  for  two  thousand  francs.  Use  3'our  talent 
and  get  two  or  three  articles  in  two  or  three  journals 
which  threaten  some  of  Dauriat's  speculations,  a  book 
for  instance  on  which  he  counts,  and  3'ou  '11  have  him 
climbing  the  stairs  to  your  garret  and  hanging  round 
there  like  a  clematis.    As  for  your  novel,  the  publishers. 


184       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

who  now  turn  you  out  of  doors  more  or  less  civilly,  will 
stand  in  line  to  catch  3'ou,  and  that  very  manuscript 
old  Doguereau  cheapened  to  four  hundred  francs  they'll 
be  glad  enough  to  get  at  four  thousand.  Such  are  the 
benefits  of  journalism.  For  this  reason  it  behooves  us 
to  keep  new-comers  out ;  it  needs  not  only  great  talent 
but  also  great  luck  to  get  within  its  precincts.  You  've 
had  that  luck  in  one  afternoon,  and  now  you  are  quar- 
relling with  it !  Just  see  !  if  you  and  I  had  not  hap- 
pened to  meet  to-day  at  Flicoteaux's  you  might  have 
cooled  your  heels  for  3'ears,  or  died  of  hunger,  like 
d'Arthez,  in  a  garret.  By  the  time  d'Arthez  is  as  learned 
as  Bayle  and  as  fine  a  writer  as  Rousseau  we  shall  have 
made  our  fortunes  and  shall  be  masters  of  him  and  his 
fame  ;  Finot  will  be  a  deput}',  and  the  proprietor  of  one 
of  the  great  newspapers  ;  and  we  shall  be  that  which 
we  have  made  ourselves, — either  peers  of  France  or 
prisoners  for  debt  in  Sainte-Pelagie." 

"And  Finot  will  sell  his  great  newspaper  to  which- 
ever political  part}'  will  give  him  most  mone}',  just  as 
he  sells  puff's  to  Madame  Bastienne  and  disparages 
Mademoiselle  Virginie,  declaring  that  the  bonnets  of 
the  former  are  better  than  those  of  the  latter,  whom  he 
cried  up  last  week  ! "  cried  Lucien,  remembering  the 
scene  he  had  witnessed  in  Finot's  oflSce. 

"You're  a  simpleton,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Lous- 
teau,  sharph^  "  Three  years  ago  Finot  was  utterly 
down  at  heel,  dined  at  Tabar's  for  eighteen  sous,  wrote 
prospectuses  for  ten  francs,  and  how  his  coat  held  on 
his  back  was  a  mystery  as  impenetrable  as  the  Immacu- 
late Conception.  Finot  now  has  in  his  sole  right  a  news- 
paper  worth   a   hundred   thousand    francs.      Counting 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    185 

subscriptions  paid  without  copies,  and  real  subscriptions, 
and  indirect  taxes  (as  you  may  call  them)  levied  by  his 
uncle,  he  makes  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year ;  he 
dines  sumptuously  every  day ;  for  the  last  month  he 
has  set  up  a  cabriolet ;  and  now  here  he  is  at  the  head 
of  a  weekly  paper,  getting  one  sixth  of  the  property  for 
nothing,  with  five  hundred  francs  a  month  salary,  to 
which  he  *11  add  a  thousand  more  for  work  he  '11  get 
done  gratis  and  make  his  partners  pay  him  for.  You  '11 
be  one  of  the  first ;  for  if  Finot  consents  to  pay  you 
fifty  francs  a  page  3'ou  '11  be  only  too  glad  to  write  him 
three  articles  for  nothing.  When  you  are  in  a  like  posi- 
tion 3'ou  will  be  able  to  judge  of  Finot,  and  not  till  then  ; 
a  man  can't  be  judged  except  by  iiis  equals  in  condition. 
You  have  at  this  moment  a  fine  opening,  provided 
you  blindly  obey  orders  and  attack  when  Finot  says, 
"  Attack  !  "  and  praise  when  he  says,  "  Praise  !  "  When 
you  have  a  vengeance  of  your  own  against  any  one  all 
you  have  to  do  is  to  say  to  me,  '  Lousteau,  I  want  that 
man  smashed,'  and  we  can  put  into  our  own  little  paper 
any  day  and  every  day  something  that  will  kill  your 
enemy.  And  if  the  matter  is  of  real  importance  to  you, 
Finot  would  get  an  article  into  one  of  the  great  journals 
which  have  ten  or  twelve  thousand  subscribers." 

"  Do  you  think  that  Florine  will  be  able  to  make  her 
druggist  accept  the  scheme?"  asked  Lucien,  dazzled. 

"Of  course  I  do.  Here's  the  interlude,  and  I'll  go 
round  and  see  her  now  and  try  to  get  the  thing  done 
to-night.  When  I  have  once  explained  the  matter  to 
Florine,  she'll  act  with  my  intelhgence  and  her  own  to 
boot." 

"And  that  respectable  old  shopkeeper  sitting  over 


186     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

there  with  his  mouth  wide  open  admiring  Florine  is  to 
have  thirty  thousand  francs  extracted  from  him  !  " 

"That's  another  piece  of  nonsense.  One  would  sup- 
pose we  were  robbing  him,"  cried  Lousteau.  "  M3' 
dear  friend,  if  the  administration  buys  that  journal,  as 
it  will,  in  six  months  the  druggist  will  have  lift}'  thou- 
sand francs  for  his  thirt}'  thousand.  Besides,  Matifat 
doesn't  care  for  the  journal;  what  he  is  thinking  of  is 
Florine's  interests.  When  it  is  known  that  Matifat 
and  Camusot  (for  they  will  share  the  venture)  are  part 
proprietors  of  a  weekh'  review,  all  the  other  journals 
will  have  friendly  articles  about  Florine  and  Coralie. 
Florine  is  certain  to  become  celebrated ;  she  may  get 
an  engagement  for  twelve  thousand  francs  at  one  of 
the  other  theatres,  and  Matifat  can  save  the  monev  he 
now  spends  in  gifts  and  dinners  to  journalists.  You 
don't  yet  know  men  or  business." 

"Poor  man  !  "  said  Lucien  ;  "  and  he  thinks  himself 
happy." 

"  He'll  be  sawn  in  two  with  arguments,"  said  Lous- 
teau, laughing,  "  till  he  shows  Florine  the  signed  agree- 
ment for  the  purchase  of  Finot's  sixth.  The  ver}^  next 
da}'  I  shall  be  editor-in-chief,  and  earning  a  thousand 
francs  a  month.  That 's  the  end  of  all  ni}^  miseries  !  " 
cried  Florine's  lover  joyouslj'. 

He  went  off  leaving  Lucien  stupefied,  swept  onward 
by  a  whirlwind  of  thought,  lost  in  a  vision  of  life  as  it 
really  is.  He  had  seen  in  the  Galeries  de  Bois  the 
secrets  of  publishers,  and  the  methods  b}'  which  literary 
fame  was  cooked ;  he  had  passed  behind  the  scenes  of 
a  theatre  and  learned  on  what  foundations  dramatic 
glory  rested  ;   and  he  perceived  with  a  poet's  insight 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    187 

the  hidden'  side  of  consciences,  —  the  wheels  within 
wheels,  the  material  mechanism  of  all  things  in  this 
Parisian  life.  He  envied  Lousteau's  happiness  as  he 
watched  his  mistress  on  the  stage ;  already'  he  had 
half  forg-otten  Matifat.  He  sat  there  alone  for  an  im- 
perceptible  time,  —  possibl}^  not  more  than  five  min- 
utes, and  3'et  it  was  an  eternity !  Ardent  thoughts 
inflamed  his  soul,  while  his  senses  were  kindled  b}'  the 
sisht  of  those  actresses  with  wanton  eves  and  rousfed 
cheeks  and  dazzling  shoulders,  dressed  voluptuously 
with  shortened  skirts,  showing  their  legs  in  red  stock- 
ings with  green  clocks  in  a  wa}'  to  put  the  whole  pit  in 
a  ferment.  Two  corruptions  marched  side  b}'  side  on 
parallel  lines,  like  two  sheets  of  water  striving,  after  an 
inundation,  to  meet  again.  The}'  threatened  to  over- 
whelm the  poet  sitting  in  the  corner  of  the  box,  his 
arms  on  the  red  velvet  cushion  before  him,  his  hands 
hanging  down,  his  e3'es  fixed  on  the  curtain  now  low- 
ered, and  he  himself  all  the  more  accessible  to  the  en- 
chantments of  this  life  before  him,  because  it  shone 
like  the  dazzle  of  fireworks  upon  the  dark  and  gloom}^ 
background  of  his  toilsome,  obscure,  and  monotonous 
life. 

Suddenly  through  an  aperture  in  the  folds  of  the 
curtain  an  eye  met  his  with  a  flood  of  loving  light. 
Waking  from  his  torpor,  he  recognized  Coralie ;  then 
he  lowered  his  head  and  looked  at  Camusot,  who  was 
sitting  directly  opposite.  The  latter  was  a  stout,  thick 
man,  —  a  silk  mercer  in  the  rue  des  Bourdonnais  ;  one 
of  the  judges  of  the  Courts  of  Commerce ;  the  father 
of  four  children  ;  married  to  a  second  wife  ;  and  w^orth 
about  eight}-  thousand  francs  a  3-ear  ;  but  with  it  all  fift}'- 


188     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

six  3'ears  of  age,  a  mop  of  gvay  hair  on  his  head,  and 
the  unctuous  look  of  a  man  who  means  to  make  the  most 
of  the  time  that  remains  to  him,  and  lose  no  chance  of 
enjoyment  after  a  long  life  spent  in  submitting  to  the 
indignities  of  shopkeeping.  That  forehead,  the  color 
of  fresh  butter,  those  rosy,  monastic  cheeks,  seemed 
scarcel}'  broad  euough  to  contain  the  expansion  of  his 
superlative  delight.  Camusot  was  alone,  without  his 
wife,  and  he  listened  with  undisguised  satisfaction  while 
Coralie  was  applauded  to  the  echo.  Coralie  represented 
the  united  vanities  of  this  rich  tradesman  ;  with  her  he 
could  fanc}'  himself  one  of  the  lords  of  the  olden  time. 
At  this  particular  moment  he  felt  he  counted  for  more 
than  half  in  the  actress's  success,  aud  he  had  all  the 
more  reason  for  thiuking  so  because  he  had  paid  for 
it.  His  conduct  was  sanctioned  by  tlie  presence  of  his 
father-in-law,  Cardot,  —  a  little  old  man  with  white  hair 
and  lively  ej^es,  but  respectable  in  appearance.  Lucien 
felt  a  violent  repugnance  come  over  him.  He  remem- 
bered the  pure  and  exalted  love  he  had  felt  for  Madame 
de  Bargeton  ;  the  love  of  poets  wrapped  its  white  wings 
round  him  ;  a  thousand  memories,  with  their  blue  hori- 
zons, surrounded  the  once  great  man  of  Angouleme, 
who  now  sank  back  into  a  state  of  dreamy  thought. 
The  curtain  rose ;  Florine  and  Coralie  were  on  the 
stage  together. 

"My  dear,  he  doesn't  care  a  straw  for  you  !  "  said 
Florine,  in  a  low  voice,  while  Coralie  was  making  one 
of  her  speeches. 

Lucien  could  not  help  laughiug,  and  looked  at  Cora- 
lie. That  3'OUHg  woman  —  one  of  the  most  charmiug 
and  delightful  actresses  in  Paris  ;  the  rival  of  Madame 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    189 

Perrin  and  Mademoiselle  Fleuriet,  whom  she  resembled, 
and  whose  fate  ought  to  have  been  hers  —  belonged  to 
the  class  of  women  who  possess  the  faculty  of  fascinat- 
ing men  at  will.  Her  face  was  of  the  noblest  Jewish 
type, — that  long,  oval  face  of  pure,  fair  ivorj',  with 
lips  as  scarlet  as  a  pomegranate,  and  a  chin  as  delicate 
as  the  edge  of  a  cup.  Beneath  the  eyelids,  with  their 
curving  lashes,  burned  eyes  of  jet,  from  which  could 
come  languishing  or  sparkling  glances  as  occasion 
offered.  Those  ej'es,  sunken  in  an  olive  circle,  were 
surmounted  b}'  arched  black  brows.  On  the  Ivor}'  fore- 
head, crowned  by  bands  of  ebon}'  on  which  the  lights 
were  glancing,  sat  enthroned  a  wealth  of  thought  which 
seemed  to  be  that  of  genius.  And  yet,  like  many  other 
actresses,  Coralie,  without  wit,  in  spite  of  her  green- 
room repartee,  without  education  beyond  her  boudoir 
experience,  had  no  talent  except  the  intelligence  of  the 
senses  and  the  perceptions  of  an  affectionate  woman. 
But  who  could  think  of  her  mental  qualities  when  she 
dazzled  the  e3^e  with  her  round  and  polished  arms,  her 
tapering,  slender  fingers,  her  beautiful  shoulders,  and 
that  bosom  sung  b}'  the  Song  of  Songs,  with  the  mo- 
bile, curving  throat,  and  those  adorabl}"  graceful  legs  en- 
cased in  red  silk  stockings  ?  These  beauties,  all  of  them 
truh^  Oriental,  were  placed  in  still  higher  relief  b}'  the 
conventional  Spanish  costume  of  our  theatres.  Coralie 
was  the  delight  of  the  audience,  who  clasped  in  fancy 
that  prett}'  waist  so  trigl}'  tightened  in  her  basque,  or 
followed  with  their  ej'es  the  undulations  of  the  skirt  as 
it  betrayed  ever}'  movement  of  the  hips.  There  came 
a  moment  when  Lucien,  observing  how  this  creature 
played  for  him  alone,  —  thinking  no  more  of  Camusot 


190     G'7'eat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

than  the  bo}'s  in  the  galleiy  thought  of  a  bit  of  apple- 
peel,  —  placed  sensual  love  above  pure  love,  enjoj'ment 
above  emotion,  and  the  demon  of  lust  whispered  in  his 
soul  atrocious  thoughts.  "I  do  not  know  what  love, 
and  luxury,  and  wine,  and  the  jo3^s  of  matter  are,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  I  have  lived  b}'  thought  and  not  by 
act.  A  man  who  describes  all  should  know  all.  This 
is  my  first  grand  supper,  my  first  debauch  in  a  strange, 
new  world ;  why  should  I  not  taste  for  once  those 
celebrated  pleasures  in  which  the  seigneurs  lived  with 
wantons  in  the  olden  time?  If  it  were  only  to  compare 
them  with  the  true,  pure  love  of  nobler  regions,  ought  1 
not  to  understand  the  joys,  the  perfections,  the  trans- 
ports, the  resources,  the  delicacies  of  the  love  of  cour- 
tesans and  actresses?  And  is  there  not,  after  all,  a 
poes}^  of  the  senses?  Two  months  ago  such  women 
seemed  to  me  enchantresses  guarded  by  dragons ;  yet 
here  is  one  whose  beaut}'  far  surpasses  tliat  of  Florine, 
for  which  I  envied  Lousteau.  Why  not  profit  by  her 
fancy  when  the  greatest  lords  would  spend  a  treasure 
to  buy  her?  Ambassadors  themselves,  when  they  once 
put  foot  into  these  gulfs,  think  neither  of  the  past  nor 
of  the  future.  I  should  be  a  fool  to  have  more  deli- 
cacy than  princes,  especially  now  when  I  love  no  other 
woman." 

Lucien  had  forgotten  Camusot.  After  manifesting 
to  Lousteau  the  utmost  disgust  for  the  odious  partner- 
ship, he  fell  into  the  same  ditch  ;  he  floated  on  a  desire, 
impelled  by  the  Jesuitism  of  passion. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    191 


XIL 

HOW    JOURNALISM    IS    DONE. 

"  CoRALiE  is  crazy  about  3011,"  said  Lousteau  re-en- 
tering the  box.  ''  Your  beauty,  worthy  of  Greek  mar- 
ble, is  turning  all  heads  behind  the  scenes.  You  are 
lucky,  my  dear  fellow.  At  eighteen,  and  after  to-night's 
success,  Coralie  could  make  sixty  thousand  francs  a 
year  out  of  her  beauty.  She  is  still  well-behaved.  Her 
mother  sold  her  three  years  ago  for  sixty  thousand 
francs  ;  the  girl  has  never  had  anything  but  annoyance 
out  of  it,  and  she  longs  for  happiness.  She  took  to  the 
stage  in  despair ;  she  hated  de  Marsa}',  her  first  lover, 
and  when  she  got  rid  of  him,  for  the  king  of  the  dandies 
soon  let  her  go,  she  took  that  solid  old  Camusot,  whom 
she  does  n't  love  ;  but  he  is  like  a  father  to  her ;  she 
puts  up  with  him  and  lets  him  love  her.  She  has 
already  refused  \Qvy  rich  proposals,  and  keeps  to  Camu- 
sot, who  never  worries  her.  You  will  realh'  be  her  first 
love.  It  seems  she  was  shot  through  the  heart  at  the 
first  sight  of  you.  Florine  has  gone  to  her  dressing- 
room  to  reason  with  her,  for  she  has  taken  what  she 
calls  your  coldness  so  to  heart.  The  play  will  fail  if 
she  forgets  her  part,  and  then,  good-by  to  the  engage- 
ment at  the  Gymnase  which  Camusot  has  almost  ob- 
tained for  her." 


192     Crreat  Man  of  the  Proviiices  in  Paris. 

"  You  don't  say  so?  —  poor  girl !  "  said  Lucien,  whose 
every  vanity  was  tickled  bj-  the  words  and  who  felt  his 
heart  expanding  with  self-conceit.  "  More  events  have 
happened  to  me,  mj^  dear  Lousteau,  within  the  last  two 
months  than  in  all  the  previous  years  of  m}-  life  put 
together." 

And  he  thereupon  related  to  his  new  friend  the  be- 
trayal of  his  love  for  Madame  de  Barge  ton,  and  his 
hatred  against  the  Baron  Sixte  du  Chatelet. 

"  Bless  me  !  the  paper  wants  a  bete-noire,  and  he'll 
just  do  for  us.  That  baron  is  an  old  beau  of  the  Em- 
pire who  has  made  himself  a  ministerialist ;  I  know  all 
about  him,  he  '11  suit  us  to  a  t.  I  have  often  seen  j^our 
great  lad}',  too,  in  Madame  d'Espard's  box  at  the 
Opera  ;  the  baron  is  usuall}^  there,  making  love  to  3'our 
ex-mistress,  who  is  as  dry  as  a  cuttle-fish.  I  have  just 
got  a  message  from  Finot  to  sa}'  that  one  of  the  staff, 
that  little  scamp  Hector  Merlin,  has  left  the  paper  in 
the  lurch  because  his  blanks  were  not  paid  for,  and  the^^ 
want  copy.  Finot  is  hun'ying  to  write  an  article 
against  the  opera,  and  he  wants  more.  Look  here,  my 
dear  fellow,  get  something  ready  on  the  play  here ; 
look,  listen,  and  think  it  up.  As  for  me,  I  '11  go  into 
the  director's  room  and  see  what  I  can  cook  up  into 
three  columns." 

"  So  this  is  how  newspapers  are  made,  is  it?"  said 
Lucien. 

"  Yes,  invariably,"  replied  Lousteau.  "  For  the  ten 
months  I  've  been  in  journalism  the}'  are  always  short 
of  copy  by  eight  in  the  evening." 

That  slang  typographical  word,  "  copy,"  means  the 
manuscript  from  which  the  type  is  set  up ;  perhaps  be- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    193 

cause  authors  are  supposed  to  send  onl}^  a  cop}'  of  their 
writing ;  or  it  ma}'  be  an  ironical  use  of  the  Latin 
word  co2na  (abundance),  for  copy  is /always  lacking. 

"  The  grand  plan  which  is  never  realized  is  to  have 
several  issues  ready  in  advance,"  said  Lousteau.  "It 
is  ten  o'clock  now,  and  there's  hardly  a  column  written. 
1  '11  find  Vernou  and  Nathan,  and  get  them  to  lend 
us  a  dozen  or  so  of  epigrams  on  the  deputies,  or  Chan- 
cellor Crusoe^  —  any  one,  friends  or  foes  ;  for  at  such 
times  one  has  to  murder  one's  father  if  necessary  ;  we 
are  like  pirates  who  load  their  guns  with  doubloons 
rather  than  surrender.  Make  your  article  witty  and 
it  may  advance  you  a  good  stride  in  Finot's  opinion  ; 
he  is  grateful  on  speculation.  That's  the  best  and 
most  solid  form  of  acknowledgment,  —  except,  of 
course,  a  pawn-broker's  receipt." 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  sort  of  men  are  journalists?  " 
cried  Lucien,  "  how  can  they  sit  down  at  any  minute 
and  write  off*  witty  things  ?  " 

"  Precisely  as  you  light  a  lamp  —  till  the  oil  gives  out." 

As  Lousteau  opened  the  door  to  leave  the  box  the 
manager  and  Du  Bruel  entered  it. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  author  of  the  play  to  Lucien, 
"  can  I  say  to  Coralie  that  you  will  go  with  her  to  sup- 
per? if  not,  my  play  will  fail.  The  poor  girl  really 
does  not  know  what  she  is  about ;  she  is  likely  to  cry 
where  she  ought  to  laugh,  and  laugh  where  she  ought  to 
cry.  You  can  save  my  piece  ;  and  it  is  not  anything 
unpleasant  that  is  asked  of  you." 

' '  Monsieur,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  putting  up  with 
rivals,"  answered  Lucien. 

' '  Don't  say  that  to  Coralie,"  interposed  the  manager  ; 

13 


194     Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  she  is  just  the  sort  of  girl  to  turn  Camusot  out  of 
doors  and  ruin  herself  for  you..  That  worth}-  old  silk- 
mercer,  who  owns  the  '  Cocon-d'Or/  gives  her  two 
thousand  francs  a  month,  and  paj's  for  all  her  dresses 
and  her  claqueurs.'" 

"  As  3'our  promise  does  not  commit  me  to  anything, 
go,  and  save  3'Our  piece,"  said  Lucien,  with  the  air  of  a 
sultan. 

"  Yes,  but  don't  look  as  if  you  wished  to  rebuff  that 
charming  girl,"  said  Du  Bruel,  deprecatingly. 

"  Well,  so  be  it !  "  cried  the  poet.  "  1  see  that  I  am 
destined  to  write  the  article  on  your  phw  and  to  smile 
on  3-our  young  actress." 

The  author  disappeared,  and  Coralie  was  soon  after 
seen  to  be  acting  delightfuU}'.  Bouffe,  who  was  pla^'- 
ing  the  part  of  an  old  alcalde,  in  which  he  showed  for 
the  first  time  his  wonderful  talent  for  making  up  and 
imitating  old  age,  came  forward  amid  thunders  of  ap- 
plause to  sa}' :  '^Gentlemen,  the  play  we  have  the 
honor  to  present  to  you  this  evening  is  bj'  Messieurs 
Raoul  and  de  Cursy." 

"Well,  well,  so  Nathan  is  in  it!"  exclaimed  Lous- 
teau.    "  I  wondered  wh}'  he  was  here." 

"Coralie!  Coralie!"  cried  the  house;  while  from 
the  box  where  the  three  shopkeepers  were  sitting  came 
a  thundering  voice  calling,  "Florine,  too  !  " 

''  Florine  and  Coralie !  "  cried  a  number  of  voices. 
The  curtain  rose  and  Bouffe  appeared  leading  the  two 
actresses,  to  whom  Matifat  and  Camusot  flung  wreaths. 
Coralie  picked  up  hers  and  held  it  out  to  Lucien. 

As  for  Lucien,  the  two  hours  spent  in  the  theatre 
were  like  a  dream.     The  work  of  fascination  had  begun 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    195 

behind  the  scenes,  odious  as  those  siuTOundings  were. 
The  poet,  still  innocent,  had  breathed  the  air  of  license 
and  of  lust.  Among  those  dirt}'  passages,  choked 
with  machinery  and  hung  with  smoking  lamps,  lurks  a 
pestilence  which  kills  the  soul.  Life  cannot  continue 
real  or  saintly  there.  Serious  things  are  laughed  at, 
impossible  things  seem  true.  The  whole  scene  acted 
like  a  narcotic  on  Lucien,  and  Coralie  completed  its  ef- 
fect by  plunging  him  into  a  species  of  joyous  intoxica- 
tion. The  great  chandelier  was  extinguished.  No  one 
remained  in  the  auditorium  but  the  door-openers,  who 
were  making  a  curious  noise  by  moving  the  little 
benches  and  closing  the  box-doors.  The  footlights, 
blown  out  like  candles,  were  exhaling  a  nasty  smell. 
The  curtain  was  drawn  up  ;  a  lantern  hung  from  the  roof. 
The  firemen  began  their  rounds  with  the  watchmen. 
The  fairy-land  of  the  stage,  the  gorgeous  spectacle  of 
the  boxes  filled  with  beautiful  women,  the  dazzling 
lights,  and  the  splendid  magic  of  decorations  and  bril- 
liant costumes  were  now  succeeded  by  cold  obscurity, 
noisomeness,  vacancy.     It  was  horrible. 

"  Are  you  coming  ?  "  called  Lousteau  from  the  stage. 

Lucien  was  in  a  state  of  indescribable  bewilderment. 

"  Jump  down  here  !  "  cried  the  journalist. 

With  one  bound  Lucien  was  on  the  stage.  He 
scarcely  recognized  Florine  and  Coralie  without  their 
gay  clothes,  wrapped  in  cloaks  and  wadded  mantles, 
their  heads  covered  with  bonnets  tied  on  b}'  black  veils, 
and  resembling  butterflies  returning  to  the  condition  of 
larvae. 

''  Will  you  do  me  the  honor  to  give  me  your  arm," 
said  Coralie,  trembling. 


196     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  Willi ngh',"  said  Lucien,  who  now  felt  the  giiTs 
heart  beating  beside  him  like  that  of  a  bird  when 
caught  in  the  hand.  The  actress,  pressing  against  him, 
was  like  a  cat  rubbing  against  her  master's  leg  with 
soft  satisfaction. 

"  We  are  to  sup  together,"  she  said. 

All  four,  Florine  and  Lousteau,  Coralie  and  Lucien, 
left  the  theatre  and  found  two  hackney-coaches  before 
the  actors'  entrance,  which  opened  on  the  rue  des 
Fosses-du-Temple.  Coralie  made  Lucien  get  into  one 
in  which  Camusot  and  his  father-in-law  Cardot  were 
already  seated.  She  offered  a  place  to  Du  Bruel.  The 
manager  had  departed  in  the  other  coach  with  Florine, 
Matifat  and  Lousteau. 

"  These  hackne3--coaches  are  odious,"  said  Coralie. 

"  Why  don't  you  have  a  carriage  of  3'our  own?"  re- 
marked Du  Bruel. 

"Why,  indeed?"  she  cried  in  a  pet.  "  I  don't  want 
to  say  why  before  Monsieur  Cardot,  who  rules  his  son- 
in-law.  Would  you  believe  that  Monsieur  Cardot, 
such  a  little  old  man !  only  gives  Florentine  five  hun- 
dred francs  a  month,  to  pay  her  rent  and  her  living 
and  her  finery.  That  old  Marquis  de  Rochegude,  who 
has  six  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year,  has  been  offer- 
ing me  a  coupe  for  the  last  two  months.  But  I  'm  an 
artist,  not  a  cocotteP 

"  You  shall  have  a  carriage  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
mademoiselle,"  said  Camusot  graciously;  "you  never 
asked  me  for  it  before." 

"  Ask  ?  is  it  likely  I  should  ask  for  it?  When  a  man 
loves  a  woman  he  should  n't  let  her  paddle  through  the 
mud  and  risk  breaking  her  ankles  in  the  gutters." 


Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    197 

As  she  said  the  words,  in  a  sharp  tone  which  cut 
Camusot  to  the  heart,  CoraUe  shpped  her  hand  into  that 
of  Lucien  and  pressed  it.  She  was  silent  after  that, 
and  seemed  absorbed  in  one  of  those  dreams  of  enjoy- 
ment which  compensate  these  poor  creatures  for  past 
troubles  and  all  their  man}'  griefs,  and  develop  in  their 
souls  a  poesy  of  whicli  otlier  women,  who  are  happily 
protected  from  these  violent  extremes,  know  nothing. 

"  You  ended  b}-  playing  as  well  as  Mademoiselle 
Mars,"  said  Du  Brnel. 

'•Yes,"  said  Camusot,  "mademoiselle  seemed  up- 
set in  the  beginning ;  but  after  the  middle  of  the  second 
act  she  was  magnificent.     She  made  half  your  success." 

"  And  I  half  hers,"  said  Du  Bruel. 

"  You  don't  either  of  you  know  what  3'ou  are  talking 
about,"  she  said  in  a  high  voice. 

The  actress  profited  by  a  moment's  darkness  to 
carr}-  Lucien's  hand  to  her  lips,  moistening  it  with  tears 
as  she  kissed  it.  Lucien  was  moved  to  the  very  mar- 
row of  his  bones.  The  human  feeling  of  the  courtesan 
who  loves  has  a  greatness  in  it  which  brings  her  back 
among  the  angels. 

"  Monsieur  is  to  write  the  article,"  said  Du  Bruel  to 
Camusot,  alluding  to  Lucien.  "  He  will  make  a  charm- 
ing paragraph  on  our  dear  Coralie." 

"Oh,  yes,  do  us  that  service,  monsieur,"  cried  Camu- 
sot, in  the  tone  of  a  man  on  his  knees  before  Lucien  ; 
"  3'OU  will  find  me  at  j'our  service  now  and  always." 

"  Do  leave  him  his  independence,"  cried  the  actress, 
"  he  shall  write  what  he  chooses.  Papa  Camusot,  buy 
me  carriages,  but  not  flattery." 

"  You   shall   have   that  without   price,"  replied  Lu- 


198     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

cien,  politely.  "  I  have  never  yet  written  for  the 
newspapers,  and  I  don't  know  their  customs ;  you  will 
inspire  the  virgin  effort  of  my  pen." 

"  That 's  odd,"  said  Du  Bruel. 

"  Here  we  are  at  the  rue  de  Bond}","  said  Cardot,  who 
had  been  silenced  and  cast  down  b}^  Coralie's  attack. 

"  If  I  have  the  first  fruits  of  3'our  pen,  3'ou  have 
those  of  m}'  heart,"  said  Coralie,  during  the  brief  mo- 
ment when  Lucien  and  she  w^ere  alone  together  in  the 


earn  a  Of  e. 


Coralie  went  to  join  Florine  in  her  bedroom,  and  put 
on  the  dress  she  had  alread}'  sent  there.  Lucien  was 
unprepared  for  the  luxury  which  rich  merchants  who 
are  determined  to  enjoy  life  heap  upon  their  mistresses. 
Though  Matifat,  whose  fortune  was  nothing  like  as 
large  as  that  of  his  friend  Camusot,  was  said  to  do 
things  in  a  rather  skimping  wa}',  Lucien  found  a  din- 
ing-room artistically  decorated,  furnished  in  green  cloth 
studded  with  gold  nails,  lighted  by  handsome  lamps, 
and  full  of  flowering  plants  ;  also  a  salon,  hung  in  yel- 
low silk  with  brown  trimmings,  in  which  the  furniture 
was  of  the  newest  fashion ;  there  was  also  a  chande- 
lier b}^  Thomire,  a  carpet  of  Persian  pattern,  and  a 
clock,  candelabra,  and  a  fireplace  all  in  the  best  taste. 
Matifat  had  left  these  arrangements  to  Grindot,  a 
3'oung  architect  who  had  built  him  a  house,  and  who, 
knowing  the  destination  of  these  rooms,  had  bestowed 
some  special  care  upon  them.  Matifat,  always  the 
shopkeeper,  was  cautious  in  touching  certain  articles ; 
he  seemed  to  have  the  total  of  the  bill  before  his  ej'es, 
and  looked  around  at  these  magnificences  as  if  they 
were  jewels  imprudentl}"  taken  out  of  their  cases. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    199 

"  This  is  what  I  shall  have  to  do  for  Florentine," 
was  the  thouoht  that  could  be  read  in  Pere  Cardot's 
little  e3es. 

Liicien  suddenly  understood  wh}'  it  was  that  the 
squalor  of  Lousteau's  garret  did  not  disturb  that  journal- 
ist. Secretly  king  of  these  revels,  Etienne  enjoyed  the 
fine  things  as  his  own.  He  stood  before  the  fireplace 
talking  with  Du  Bruel  and  the  manager  as  though  he 
were  master  of  the  house. 

"Copy!  copy!"  cried  Finot,  suddenly  rushing  in 
upon  them.  "  There's  nothing  in  the  box.  The  com- 
positors have  got  m}'  article  on  the  Opera,  but  the}'  '11 
soon  have  finished  it." 

''We'll  be  ready,"  said  Etienne.  ''There  's  a  table 
and  a  fire  in  Florine's  boudoir.  If  Monsieur  Matifat 
will  kindly  give  us  ink  and  paper  we  can  write  the  ar- 
ticles while  Florine  and  Coralie  are  dressing." 

Cardot,  Camusot,  and  Matifat  disappeared,  eager  to 
find  all  the  writers  wanted.  Just  then  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest danseuses  of  the  da}',  named  Tullia,  darted  into 
the  room. 

"  M}'  dear  child !  "  she  said  to  Finot,  "  your  hundred 
subscriptions  are  granted.  The}'  are  not  to  cost  tlie 
management  anything ;  they  are  saddled  on  the  singers 
and  the  orchestra  and  the  corps  de  hcdlet.  Your  paper 
is  so  witty  we  none  of  us  complain.  You  are  to  have 
your  four  boxes.  I  have  come  to  tell  you  instantly. 
And  here 's  the  monev  for  the  first  three  months,"  she 
added,  holding  out  a  couple  of  bank-bills.  "  Now,  don't 
attack  me." 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  Finot,  "I  must  suppress 
that  article,  and  I  have  n't  anything  to  take  its  place." 


200     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

''■  What  an  exquisite  ^.9«s  that  was,  m}'  divine  Lais  !  " 
cried  Blondet,  who  followed  the  dciJiseuse  with  Nathan, 
Vernou,  and  Claude  Vignon,  whom  he  had  brought 
with  him.  "  Staj'  to  supper  with  us,  dear  love,  or  I'll 
crush  30U  like  the  butterflj-  that  3'ou  are !  Being  a 
danseuse,  jou  can't  excite  an}'  jealousies  here  ;  and  as 
for  beauty,  3'ou  and  Florine  and  Coralie  have  too  much 
sense  to  be  rivals." 

"  Mj*  dear  fellows,"  cried  Finot,  "save  me!  You, 
Du  Bruel,  Nathan,  Blondet,  ^  implore  you  to  save  me ! 
I  must  have  five  columns  !  " 

"  I  can  do  two  with  the  pla}',"  said  Lucien. 

'^  And  I  one,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Well,  then,  Nathan,  Vernou,  Du  Bruel,  fill  up  the 
rest  with  witticisms.  This  good  Blondet  I  know  will 
grant  me  the  two  little  half-columns  on  the  first  page. 
I  must  go  straight  to  the  printing  office  and  stop 
m}'  Opera  article.  How  luck}^,  Tulha,  you  kept  the 
carriage  !  " 

"Yes,  but  the  duke  is  in  it  with  the  German 
minister." 

"  Let's  invite  the  duke  and  the  minister  to  supper," 
said  Nathan. 

"A  German  alvvavs  drinks  well  and  listens  well. 
We'll  tell  him  a  lot  of  queer  stories  and  he'll  write 
them  to  his  court !  "  cried  Blondet. 

"  Who  is  the  most  dignified  among  us?  for  that  per- 
son must  go  down  and  invite  them  up.  Come,  Du 
Bruel,  you  are  a  bureaucrat ;  give  your  arm  to  TuUia 
and  go  and  fetch  the  Due  de  Rhetore  and  the  German 
minister.  Good  gracious,  TuUia,  how  handsome  you 
are  to-night !  " 


Great  Man  of  the  Provmces  in  Paris.    201 

"That  will  make  us  thirteen!"  said  Matifat,  turn- 
ing pale. 

"  No,  fourteen  !  "  said  Florentine,  overhearing  him  as 
she  entered  the  room.  "I  have  come  to  look  after 
Milord  Cardot." 

"Besides,"  said  Lousteau,  "  Blondet  has  brought 
Claude  Vignon." 

"  I  brought  him  here  to  drink  !  "  said  Blondet,  pick- 
ing up  an  inkstand.  "  Come,  all  of  3'ou,  have  wit 
enough  to  pay  for  the  fifty-six  bottles  of  wine  we  are 
going  to  absorb.  Above  all,  stir  up  Du  Bruel ;  he 's 
a  vaudevillist,  and  he  's  capable  of  spicy  things  when 
driven  to  a  point." 

Lucien,  inspired  with  a  desire  to  show  oflf  his  facul- 
ties before  such  a  remarkable  set.  of  men,  wrote  his 
first  newspaper  article  on  a  round  table  in  Florine's 
boudoir,  b}"  the  light  of  the  crimson  wax- candles  which 
were  lighted  for  him  by  Matifat. 

Panorama-Dramatique. 

First  Representation  of  "  The  Alcalde  in  Difficulties ;  "  Im- 
hroglio  in  three  Acts.  First  Appearance  of  Mademoiselle 
Florine.      Mademoiselle  Coralie.      Bouffe. 

They  enter,  leave  the  stage,  talk,  walk,  search  for  some- 
thing, find  nothing ;  all  is  uproar.  The  Alcalde  has  lost  his 
daughter,  but  finds  his  night-cap.  But,  lo !  the  night-cap 
does  not  fit  him ;  it  must  be  the  night-cap  of  a  thief ! 
Where  is  the  thief?  Again  they  enter,  pass  in  and  out, 
talk,  w^alk,  and  search  more  than  ever.  The  Alcalde  ends 
by  f  nding  a  man  without  his  daughter,  and  his  daughter 
without  a  man,  which  is  satisfying  to  the  magistrate,  but 
not  at  all  so  to  the  public. 


202     Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Quiet  is  restored.  The  Alcalde  wishes  to  interrogate  the 
man.  He  seats  himself  in  a  chair  of  state  and  arranges  his 
sleeves,  —  the  sleeves  of  an  Alcalde.  Spain  is  the  only 
country  where  they  have  alcaldes  appended  to  enormous 
sleeves,  and  wearing  ruffs  about  their  necks  which,  on  the 
stage  of  Paris,  are  more  than  half  their  functions.  This 
Alcalde,  who  trots  about  with  the  short  steps  of  a  wheezy 
old  fellow,  is  Bouffe,  —  Bouffe,  the  successor  of  Potier,  a 
young  actor  who  plays  old  men  so  w^ell  that  he  makes  the 
oldest  old  men  laugh.  There  's  a  future  of  a  hundred  old 
fellows  in  that  bald  head,  that  quivering  voice,  those  trem- 
bling, spindling  legs  which  bear  the  body  of  a  Geronte. 
He  is  so  old,  this  young  actor,  that  he  frightens  you ;  you 
are  afraid  you  '11  catch  his  oldness  like  a  contagious  disease. 
But  what  an  admirable  Alcalde !  what  a  capital  uneasy 
smile !  what  important  silliness !  what  stupid  dignity ! 
what  judicial  irresolution  !  How  able  he  is  to  perceive 
that  all  things  are  alternately  false  and  true !  how  fitted 
to  be  the  minister  of  a  constitutional  king !  In  reply  to 
each  question  of  the  Alcalde  the  mysterious  man  interro- 
gates the  Alcalde.  Bouffe  replies,  and  the  result  is  that, 
questioned  by  answers,  the  Alcalde  ends  by  clearing  up 
everything  himself.  This  eminently  comic  scene,  redolent 
of  Moliere,  delighted  the  audience.  Everybody  on  the  stage 
appeared  to  be  perfectly  satisfied,  but  I  myself  am  wholly 
unable  to  tell  you  what  was  true  or  what  was  false,  what 
was  clear  or  what  was  cloudy.     And  why  ? 

The  daughter  of  the  Alcalde  was  there,  —  a  true  Aiidalu- 
sian,  a  Spaniard  with  Spanish  eyes,  Spanish  complexion, 
Spanish  waist  and  walk ;  a  Spaniard  from  head  to  foot,  her 
dagger  in  her  garter,  her  love  in  her  eyes,  her  cross  on  a 
ribbon  at  her  throat.  At  the  close  of  the  first  act  some  one 
asked  me  how  the  piece  was  going,  and  I  answered :  "  She 
has  red  stockings  with  green  clocks,  a  tiny  foot  in  varnished 
shoes,  and  the  handsomest  leg  in  Andalusia !  "     Ah !  that 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    203 

daughter  of  the  Alcalde  !  she  makes  one's  mouth  water ;  she 
fills  a  man  with  msane  desires ;  you  want  to  spring  upon 
the  stage  and  offer  her  your  heart  and  a  cottage,  or  thu'ty 
thousand  francs  a  year  and  your  pen.  This  Andalusian  girl 
is  the  handsomest  actress  in  Paris.  Coralie,  since  we  have  to 
name  her,  —  Coralie  is  fitted  to  be  either  countess  or  gri- 
sette ;  it  is  difficult  to  know  in  which  character  she  would 
please  us  best.  She  can  be  what  she  chooses  to  be ;  she  is 
born  capable  of  doing  all  things.  What  more  can  be  said  of 
an  actress  of  the  Boulevards  ? 

In  the  second  act  a  Spanish  lady  arrives  from  Paris,  with 
chiselled  fe§itures  and  murderous  eyes.  I  asked  some  one 
near  me  who  she  was  and  whence  she  came,  and  I  was  told 
she  was  Mademoiselle  Florine,  who  had  come  from  the 
wings.  But  no ;  impossible  to  believe  it !  There  was  too 
much  fire  in  her  movements,  too  much  fury  in  her  love. 
This  rival  of  the  daughter  of  the  Alcalde  was  the  wife  of  a 
grandee  wrapped  in  the  mantle  of  Almaviva,  in  which,  by 
the  bye,  there  was  stuff  enough  to  furnish  a  hundred  of  our 
great  boulevard  seigneurs.  Though  Florine  did  not  wear 
red  stockings  with  green  clocks,  or  varnished  shoes,  she  wore 
a  mantilla,  and  a  veil  which  she  manoeuvred  charmingly,  like 
the  great  lady  that  she  is.  The  tigress  became  a  cat.  At 
the  first  incisive  words  the  two  beauties  said  to  each  other, 
I  saw  a  whole  drama  of  jealousy.  But  in  spite  of  that, 
matters  were  nearly  arranged,  when  the  stupidity  of  the 
Alcalde  again  embroiled  everything.  The  whole  crowd  of 
torch-bearers  and  valets,  and  figaros  and  grandees,  alcaldes, 
and  girls  and  women,  set  out  once  more  to  search,  and  go 
and  come,  and  turn  and  twist  about.  The  plot  thickens,  and 
I  let  it  thicken ;  for  the  two  women  — ■  the  jealous  Florine 
and  the  happy  Coralie  —  have  caught  me  again  in  the  folds 
of  their  basques  and  their  mantillas;  the  points  of  their 
pretty  little  feet  are  in  my  eyes. 

However,  the  third  act  came  and  I  had  not  disgraced  my- 
self ;  the  commissary  of  police  had  not  interfered ;  the  audi- 


204     Great  Man  of  tlie  Provinces  in  Paris. 

ence  were  not  scandalized  ;  and  I  consequently  shall  believe 
henceforth  in  the  strength  of  those  public  and  religious 
morals  about  which  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  is  just  now  so 
much  concerned  that  you  might  suppose  there  was  no  morality 
in  France.  I  began  to  perceive  that  the  play  was  about  a  man 
who  loved  two  women  without  being  loved  by  either ;  or  it 
may  be  that  they  both  loved  him  and  he  did  not  love  them  ; 
neither  did  he  like  the  Alcalde,  or  else  the  Alcalde  did  not 
like  him ;  but,  whichever  way  it  all  was,  he  was  a  noble 
grandee  who  loved  some  one,  himself  or  God  for  want  of  a 
better,  and  he  made  himself  a  monk.  That  is  all  I  can  tell 
you  about  the  piece,  and  if  you  want  to  know  more,  you 
must  go  to  the  Panorama-Dramatique.  I  have  told  you 
enough  to  show  that  you  must  go  there  once  to  make  ac- 
quaintance with  those  adorable  red  stockings  and  green 
clocks,  those  tiny  feet  so  full  of  promises,  those  eyes  that  filter 
sun-rays,  once  to  learn  the  coquetry  of  the  Parisian  dis- 
guised as  an  Andalusian,  and  of  the  Andalusian  disguised  as 
a  Parisian ;  and  you  must  go  a  second  time  to  really  enjoy 
the  play,  which  will  make  you  die  of  laughing  over  a 
slobbering  old  man  in  the  guise  of  a  lover. 

The  play  has  had  a  double  success.  The  author,  whose 
collaborator  is  one  of  our  distinguished  poets,  has  aimed  at 
success  with  a  beauty  in  each  hand ;  he  kept  his  audience  in 
a  tumult  of  pleasure  throughout ;  in  fact,  the  legs  of  those 
beauties  seemed  as  witty  as  the  author ;  and  yet  when  they 
left  the  stage  the  audience  thought  the  dialogue  not  a  whit 
less  witty,  —  a  triumphant  proof  of  the  excellence  of  the  play. 
The  author's  name  was  announced  amid  applause  which  must 
have  made  the  architect  of  the  building  anxious ;  but  the 
author,  accustomed  to  the  upheaval  of  that  Vesuvius  which 
sits  beneath  the  chandelier,  did  not  tremble  ;  it  was  Mon- 
sieur de  Cursy.  As  for  the  two  actresses,  they  danced  the 
famous  bolero  of  Seville  which  found  favor  with  the  fathers 
of  the  faith  in  the  olden  time,  and  is  still  permitted  by  the 
censor  in  spite  of  the  indecency  of  the  attitudes. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    205 

While  Lucien  was  writing  these  cohimns,  which  pro- 
duced a  revohition  in  journalism  b}^  introducing  a  new 
and  perfectly  original  style  of  comment,  Lousteau  was 
making  use  of  the  poet's  confidences  in  an  article  under 
the  general  head  of  Manners  and  Customs,  entitled 
"  The  Ex-Beau."     It  began  as  follows  :  — * 

"  The  Beau  of  the  Empire  is  always  a  long,  slender  man, 
well  preserved,  who  wears  corsets  and  the  cross  of  the  Legion 
of  honor.  His  name  is,  let  us  say,  Potelet,  and  in  order  to 
curry  favor  with  the  court  of  to-day  the  baron  of  the  Empire 
bestows  upon  himself  a  du,  —  du  Potelet,  —  ready,  however, 
to  be  once  more  Potelet  in  case  of  a  revolution.  He  is  a  man 
of  two  careers  (like  his  name)  ;  he  now  pays  court  to  the 
faubourg  Saint-Germain,  after  holding  office  as  the  glorious, 
useful,  and  fascinating  train-bearer  of  the  sister  of  the  man 
whom  propriety  forbids  me  to  name.  Though  du  Potelet  is 
now  anxious  to  deny  his  service  to  the  Imperial  Highness, 
he  still  sings  the  songs  of  his  former  benefactress." 

The  article  was  a  tissue  of  the  silly  personalities 
which  were  in  vogue  in  those  days,  —  a  style  improved 
upon  later,  more  especially  b}^  the  "  Figaro."  Lousteau 
invented  a  fable  in  which  a  great  lady  to  whom  the 
baron  was  paying  court  was  compared  to  a  cuttle-fish. 
The  ex-beau  was  likened  to  a  heron ;  and  the  loves  of 
the  heron,  who  vainly  endeavored  to  swallow  the  cuttle- 
fish, which  broke  in  three  when  he  let  it  drop,  was  provo- 
cative of  laughter  even  to  those  v/ho  did  not  know  the 
two  persons  held  up  to  ridicule.  The  joke,  which  was 
carried  on  subsequently  through  several  numbers,  made 
a  great  commotion  in  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain,  and 
was  one  of  the  thousand  and  one  causes  of  the  restric- 
tions laid  soon  after  on  the  Press. 


206     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

In  about  an  hour  Blondet,  Lonsteau,  and  Lncien  re- 
turned to  the  salon,  where  they  found  the  other  guests : 
the  duke,  the  minister,  the  four  women,  the  three  mer- 
chants, the  manager  of  the  theatre,  Finot  (who  had  re- 
turned), and  the  three  authors.  A  printer's  bo}',  wearing 
a  paper  cap,  had  come  to  fetch  copy  for  the  paper. 

"■  Here,  go  back  and  give  the  compositors  these  ten 
francs,  and  tell  them  to  wait,"  said  Finot. 

"  If  you  send  them  that  money,  monsieur,  they'll  get 
drunk,  and  then  good-bye  to  the  paper." 

"The  common-sense  of  that  bov  actually  frightens 
me,"  remarked  Finot. 

Just  then  the  three  writers  returned  with  their  articles 
Blondet's  was  an  extremely  clever  diatribe  against  the 
romanticists  ;  Lousteau's  made  every  one  laugh,  though 
the  Due  de  Rhetore  advised  him  to  slip  in  a  compliment 
to  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  in  order  not  to  antagonize 
the  faubourg  Saint-Germain. 

"  And  3'ou,"  said  Finot,  addressing  Lucien,  "  let  us 
hear  what  3'ou  have  written." 

When  Lucien,  trembling  with  fear,  had  finished  read- 
ing, the  salon  rang  with  applause,  the  actresses  kissed 
him,  the  tradesmen  in  their  delight  almost  squeezed  the 
breath  out  of  him  ;  Du  Bruel  seized  his  hand  with  a 
tear  in  his  eye,  and  the  manager  asked  him  to  dinner. 

"  As  Monsieur  de  Chateaubriand  has  already  called 
Victor  Hugo  '  the  sublime  child,'"  said  Blondet,  "I 
can  only  say  of  you  that  you  were  born  a  man  of  wit, 
heart,  and  stj'le." 

"  Monsieur  is  on  our  paper,"  said  Finot,  with  a  grati- 
fied nod  at  Lousteau,  and  the  shrewd  glance  of  one  who 
makes  the  most  of  an  advantage.     ''  Here,  carry  off  all 


Great  Man  of  the  Proviyices  in  Paris.    207 

this  copy,"  he  said  to  the  apprentice.  *' That's  all  the}^ 
need.  The  paper  may  be  a  little  veneered,  but  it  will 
be  a  fine  number,"  added  Finot,  turning  to  the  group  of 
writers,  vvho  were  taking  Lucien's  measure  covertly. 

''  He  seems  to  have  talent,"'  said  Blondet. 

"  That  article  was  good,"  responded  Claude  Vignon. 

"  Come  !  to  supper  !  "  cried  Matifat. 

The  duke  gave  his  arm  to  Florine,  Coralie  took  Lu- 
cien's, and  Tullia  sat  between  Blondet  and  the  Ger- 
man minister. 

''  I  don't  understand  why  3'ou  attack  Madame  de 
Bargeton  and  the  Baron  du  Chatelet,"  said  the  duke. 
"  I  hear  the  baron  is  just  made  Prefect  of  the  Charente 
and  Master  of  petitions." 

"  Madame  de  Bargeton  abandoned  Lucien  as  if  he 
were  of  no  account,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Such  a  fine  young  man !  "  exclaimed  the  minister. 


208     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


XIII. 


THE    SUPPER. 


The  supper,  served  on  new  plate  and  Sevres  china 
and  double  damask,  exhaled  an  atmosphere  of  substan- 
tial magnificence.  Chevet  supplied  the  viands ;  the 
wines  were  chosen  b}^  the  famous  dealer  on  the  Quai 
Saint-Bernard,  an  intimate  friend  of  Camusot,  Matifat, 
and  Cardot.  Lucien,  who  saw  the  details  of  Parisian 
luxur}'  for  the  first  time,  went  from  one  surprise  to  an- 
other ;  but  he  had  now  learned  to  conceal  his  amaze- 
ment, like  the  man  of  wit,  heart,  and  style  that  Blondet 
had  proclaimed  him. 

As  the}^  crossed  the  salon  Coralie  whispered  to 
Florine,  "  Do  please  make  Camusot  so  drunk  that  he 
will  be  forced  to  sta}-  and  sleep  here  to-night." 

"Then  you  have  captured  3'our  journalist  ? "  said 
Florine. 

"  No,  m}'  dear,  but  I  love  him,"  replied  Coralie  with 
a  prett}^  little  motion  of  her  shoulders. 

The  words  echoed  in  Lucien's  ear,  brought  there  b}^ 
the  fifth  capital  sin.  Coralie  was  charmingl}'  well- 
dressed  ;  her  toilet  brought  into  relief  her  special 
beauties ;  for  all  beautiful  women  have  certain  points 
which  particularly  belong  to  them.  Her  gown,  like 
that  of  Florine,  was  of  a  new  material  not  3'et  placed 
upon   the   market,  called  "  mousseline   de  sole;"   the 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    209 

first  specimens  of  which  had  been  sent  to  Camusot,  one 
of  the  largest  biij-ers  from  the  L^^ons  manufacturers. 
Love  and  dress,  the  decoration  and  fragrance  of  women- 
kind,  were  added  to  the  seductions  of  the  happ}'  Coralie. 
Pure,  sincere  love,  a  first  love  in  short,  albeit  in  the 
form  of  one  of  those  fantastic  frenzies  which  seize 
upon  these  poor  creatures,  added  to  the  admiration 
caused  by  Lucien's  extreme  beauty,  gave  intelligence  to 
Coralie's  heart. 

"  I  would  love  3'ou  ill  and  ugly  !  "  she  said  in  his  ear 
as  thev  sat  down  to  table. 

What  words  to  a  poet !  Camusot  disappeared  from 
Lucien's  ken,  and  he  saw  only  Coralie.  Lives  there  a 
man,  all  enjoyment,  all  sensation,  sickened  of  provincial 
monotony,  allured  b}'  the  vortex  of  Paris,  wear}'  of 
poverty,  galled  by  his  enforced  continence,  hating  his 
monkish  life  in  the  rue  de  Clun}',  his  toil  without  result, 
who  could  have  turned  his  back  on  this  gay  festival? 
Lucien  had  one  foot  in  the  net  of  Coralie's  beauty,  the 
other  in  the  bird-lime  of  journalism.  After  long  and 
fruitless  waiting  about  the  rue  du  Sentier,  he  was  here, 
in  the  heart  of  the  Press,  as  it  supped  and  drank  and 
joked  like  the  hearty  good  fellow  that  he  found  it. 
Moreover  he  had  just  been  avenged  for  his  rankling 
wound  b}'  an  article  that  on  the  morrow  would  stab  two 
hearts  he  had  longed,  ineflfectuallj^  to  fill  with  the 
pain  and  wrath  the}'  had  made  him  suffer.  Looking  at 
Lousteau  he  thought  to  himself:  "There,  indeed,  is  a 
true  friend  ;  "  not  imagining  that  even  then  Lousteau  was 
dreading  him  as  a  rival.  Lucien  had  made  the  mistake 
of  putting  forth  all  his  cleverness.  A  commonplace 
article   would   have   answered   the   purpose.      Blondet 

14 


210     Girtat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

counteracted  any  effect  of  the  jealous}'  Lousteau  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  by  telling  Finot  he  must  make  terms 
with  a  talent  as  good  as  that.  This  advice  influenced 
Lousteau's  conduct ;  he  resolved  to  remain  Lucien's 
friend,  and  arrange  with  Finot  to  secure  the  services  of 
the  dangerous  new-comer  by  keeping  him  dependent 
and  needy.  It  was  a  plan  rapidly  laid  and  understood 
to  its  fullest  extent  between  the  two  men,  and  ex- 
pressed in  whispered  sentences  :  "  He  has  talent ;  he  '11 
be  exacting."  —  "  Let  him  try  it !  " 

"I  am  always  afraid  of  supping  with  French  jour- 
nalists," said  the  German  minister,  with  calm  and  digni- 
fied bonhomie,  looking  at  Blondet,  whom  he  had 
alread}"  met  in  the  salon  of  the  Comtesse  de  Mont- 
cornet.  "  There  is  a  saying  of  Bluchers  which  it  seems 
your  mission  to  justif}'." 

"  What  saying?  "  asked  Nathan. 

*'  When  Blucher  reached  the  hei2:hts  of  Montmartre 
with  Saacken  in  1814,  — pardon  me,  gentlemen,  for  re- 
minding 3'ou  of  so  fatal  a  da}^,  —  Saacken,  who  was  a 
boor,  exclaimed,  '  Now  we  shall  burn  Paris  ! '  '  Mind 
you  don't,'  said  Blucher,  ^  France  is  to  die  of  that  can- 
cer,' —  pointing  to  the  city,  sweltering  and  smoking  at 
their  feet  in  the  valley  of  the  Seine.  I  thank  God  that 
there  are  no  newspapers  in  my  countr}-,"  continued  the 
minister  after  a  pause.  "I  have  not  3'et  recovered 
from  my  fright  at  that  little  printer's  devil  who  was 
here  just  now  in  his  paper-cap,  and  the  abnormal  com- 
mon-sense of  his  ten  3'ears.  I  fancy  I  am  now  to  sup 
with  lions  and  panthers,  who  will  do  me  the  favor  to 
cushion  their  claws." 

"  It  is  quite  certain,"  said  Blondet,  "  that  we  are  in  a 


Great  Man  of  the  P^'ovinees  in  Paris.     211 

position  to  sa}'  and  prove  to  all  Europe  that  j'our  Ex- 
cellencj'  has  vomited  a  serpent  this  evening,  with  which 
you  have  almost  poisoned  Mademoiselle  Tullia,  the 
prettiest  of  our  danseuses.  Various  comments  on  Eve 
and  the  first  and  the  last  sin  might  be  made  on  that ; 
but  don't  be  uneasy,  you  are  here  as  our  guest." 

"  It  would  make  a  funny  article,"  said  Finot. 

"It  might  contain  scientific  dissertations  on  all  the 
serpents  found  in  the  human  heart  and  bod}',  including 
those  of  the  diplomatic  bod}',"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Preserved  in  this  flask  of  cherry-brandy,"  said 
Vernou. 

"  So  that  3'ou  ma}^  see  and  believe  in  them  yourself," 
said  Claude  Vignon  to  the  diplomatist. 

"  Gentlemen,  don't  show  your  claws  so  soon,"  said 
the  Due  de  Rhetore. 

"  The  power  and  influence  of  journalism  is  still  in  its 
dawn,"  said  Finot.  "  The  newspaper  is  now  a  babe, 
but  it  will  grow.  Ten  years  hence  everything  will  be 
subjected  to  publicity.  Thought  will  illumine  every- 
thing and  — " 

"  —  blast  everything,"  said  Blondet,  interrupting  him. 

"  A  witty  saying,  that 's  all,"  remarked  Vignon 
parenthetically. 

"  It  will  make  kings,"  continued  Lousteau. 

"And  unmake  kingdoms,"  said  the  diplomatist. 

"  Consequentl}',"  said  Blondet,  "  if  the  press  did  not 
exist,  it  ought  never  to  be  invented  ;  but  here  it  is,  —  we 
live  by  it." 

"And  3'ou  will  die  of  it,"  said  the  minister.  "Do 
3'ou  not  see  that  the  enlightenment  of  the  masses,  sup- 
posing  that   you   do    enlighten    them,    will   make    the 


212     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

grandeur  of  the  individual  more  difficult,  and  that  if  3'ou 
sow  the  power  of  reasoning  in  the  minds  of  the  lower 
classes  you  will  reap  revolt,  and  be  yourselves  its  first 
victims  ?  What  is  it  they  smash  in  Paris  when  there  's 
a  riot  ?  • ' 

"  The  street-lamps,"  said  Nathan ;  "  but  we  are  too 
humble  a  pre}^ ;  at  the  worst  they  '11  only  crack  us." 

"  You  are  too  witty  a  people  to  allow  any  form  of 
government,  no  matter  what  it  is,  the  time  to  develop," 
said  the  minister.  "  Otherwise,  your  pens  would  at- 
tempt to  reconquer  the  Europe  your  swords  could  not 
retain." 

"Newspapers  are  an  evil,  undoubtedly,"  said  Claude 
Vignon ;  "an  evil  that  might  be  utilized,  but  govern- 
ments insist  on  fighting  it.  A  struggle  must  come. 
Who  will  get  the  worst  of  it? —  that's  the  question." 

"The  government,"  said  Blondet ;  "  I  am  tired  of 
shouting  that.  Intellect  is  the  ruling  power  in  France, 
and  journalism  has  not  only  all  the  intelligence  of 
the  best  minds,  but  it  has  the  hypocrisy  of  Tartufe  as 
well." 

"Blondet,  Blondet,"  said  Finot,  "that's  going  too 
far  ;  remember  there  are  subscribers  present." 

*'  Yes,  you  are  owner  of  one  of  those  venom  reservoirs, 
and  you  ought  to  be  afraid  ;  as  for  me  I  scorn  the  trade, 
though  I  live  b}^  it." 

' '  Blondet  is  right,"  said  Claude  Vignon.  "  Journalism, 
instead  of  being,  as  it  ought  to  be,  a  priesthood,  has  be- 
come an  engine  of  parties  ;  being  an  engine,  it  is  now  an 
article  of  commerce,  and,  like  all  other  forms  of  com- 
merde,  it  regards  neither  law  nor  gospel.  All  journalism 
is,  as  Blondet   sa3^s,  a  trade,  where  they  sell   to   the 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    213 

public  the  words  of  the  color  and  stripe  the  public 
want.  If  there  were  a  newspaper  for  hunchbacks  it 
would  declare  night  and  morning  the  beauty-,  goodness, 
and  necessity  of  hunchbacks.  A  newspaper  is  no 
longer  written  to  enlighten  public  opinion,  but  to  cajole 
it.  Within  a  given  time  all  papers  will  end  hy  being 
base,  hj'pocritical  liars,  —  murderers  if  you  please  ;  for 
they  will  kill  ideas,  theories,  men,  and  live  b}^  that 
alone.  And  they  '11  have  every  apparent  reason  on  their 
side  ;  the  evil  will  be  done  and  no  one  will  be  guilt}'.  I, 
Vignon,  you,  Lousteau,  Blondet,  Finot,  will  be  Platos, 
Aristides,  Catos,  Plutarch's  men,  —  all  of  us  innocent, 
and  able  to  wash  our  hands  of  infamy.  Napoleon  gave 
the  reason  of  that  phenomenon,  moral  or  immoral  as 
5'ou  choose  to  call  it,  in  a  wonderful  saying  which  his 
studies  of  the  Convention  taught  him :  '  Collective 
crimes  involve  no  one.'  A  newspaper  may  be  guilty  of 
the  most  atrocious  conduct,  but  no  journalist  considers 
that  he  is  personall}'  soiled  by  it." 

"  The  authorities  will  make  repressive  laws,"  said 
Du  Bruel.     ' '  The}'  are  preparing  them  already." 

"  Pooh  !  what  can  laws  do  against  French  wit,  the 
most  subtle  of  all  dissolvents,"  said  Nathan. 

"Ideas  can  only  be  neutralized  by  ideas,"  continued 
Vignon.  "  Terror,  despotism  alone  can  stifle  French 
genius  ;  and  even  so,  our  language  is  well-fitted  for 
allusion  and  double-meaning.  The  more  repressive  the 
laws  may  be,  the  more  vehemently  French  wit  will  burst 
forth,  like  steam  from  the  throttle  of  an  engine.  Jour- 
nalism will  have  a  thousand  methods  of  evasion.  If 
the  king  has  done  well  and  the  paper  is  anti-royalist, 
it  gives  all  praise  to  the  ministry,  and  vice  versa.     If 


214     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

the  paper  invents  an  infamous  calumny,  it  has  been 
told  it  by  others.  If  the  individual  complains,  the 
paper  will  get  off  on  the  score  of  public  privilege.  If 
dragged  before  the  courts,  it  will  complain  that  no  one 
had  asked  for  retraction  ;  ask,  and  it  will  turn  the 
whole  matter  into  a  scoff  and  call  it  a  trifle.  It  will 
scout  at  a  victim  that  gets  the  better  of  it.  It  will  con- 
trive to  say  that  Monsieur  Such-a-one  is  a  thief,  while 
professedly  proving  him  the  most  honest  man  in  the 
kingdom  ;  and  in  course  of  time  it  will  make  its  dailv 
readers  believe  whatever  it  may  choose  to  put  into  their 
minds.  It  is  never  wrong.  Nothing  that  displeases  it 
can  possibly  be  patriotic.  It  will  use  religion  to  rap 
religion,  the  Charter  to  rap  the  king ;  it  will  scoff  at 
the  law  if  the  law  annoys  it,  and  praise  it  when  it 
serves  an}^  popular  passion.  To  gain  subscribers,  a 
newspaper  will  do  anything,  —  serve  up  its  own  father 
raw  with  the  salt  of  its  atticisms  rather  than  not  amuse 
and  interest  the  public.  It  is  like  the  actor  putting  the 
ashes  of  his  son  in  the  urn  that  he  ma}^  cvy  more 
naturallv  —  " 

"  In  short,  it  is  the  People  in  daily  print,"  cried 
Blondet,  interrupting  Vignon. 

"  Yes,  the  h3'pocritical  people,  devoid  of  all  generous 
ideas,"  replied  Vignon,  —  "a  people  that  will  banish 
greatness  from  its  bosom  as  Athens  banished  Aristides. 
Mark  mj^  words,  we  shall  see  newspapers,  managed  at 
first  b}^  men  of  honor,  falling  later  under  the  control  of 
inferior  men  who  will  have  the  elasticit}'  and  resistance 
of  india-rubber,  which  great  souls  lack,  or  into  the 
hands  of  tradesmen  who  have  the  money  to  support  the 
pens.     Why,  you  can  see  it  already.     Ten  years  hence 


Great  Mmi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    215 

eveiT  youngster  out  of  college  will  think  himself  a 
great  man  ;  he  *11  jump  into  the  columns  of  the  news- 
paper and  knock  out  his  predecessors  and  take  their 
places.  Napoleon  was  right  enough  in  wishing  to 
muzzle  the  press !  And  I  will  bet  that  if  the  opposi- 
tion papers  were  to  make  a  government  themselves 
they  would  attack  it  with  the  same  reasons  and  the 
same  articles  the}'  now  fulminate  against  the  king,  the 
ver}'  moment  that  their  own  government  refused  them 
an3'thing,  no  matter  what.  The  more  concessions  are 
made  to  newspapers,  the  more  exacting  those  papers 
will  become.  Successful  journalists  will  be  constantly' 
succeeded  b}'  poor  and  hungry  journahsts.  The  evil  is 
incurable  ;  it  is  getting  more  and  more  malignant,  more 
and  more  dangerous  ;  and  the  greater  the  evil,  the  more 
it  will  be  tolerated,  until  the  day  w^hen  confusion  shall 
overtake  journahsm  as  it  did  Babj'lon.  We  all  know, 
such  as  we  are,  that  the  press  practises  a  baser  ingrati- 
tude than  that  of  kings,  a  dirtier  business  in  schemes 
and  speculations  than  the  vilest  commerce,  and  sucks 
our  brains  out  to  brew  its  dail}-  alcohol  every  morning  ; 
and  3'et  we  all  write  for  it,  like  laborers  who  work  a 
mine  of  quicksilver  and  know  they  "11  die  of  it.  Look 
at  that  man  over  there,  bv  Coralie  —  what's  his  name? 
Lucien  !  —  he  is  handsome,  he  is  a  poet,  and  what  is 
better,  for  him  at  least,  he  has  wit ;  well,  he  '11  enter 
one  of  those  places  of  ill-fame  called  newspapers,  he  '11 
fling  his  finest  ideas  into  it,  he  '11  dr^*  up  his  brain,  he  '11 
corrupt  his  soul,  he  '11  commit  those  anonymous  im- 
famies  which  take  the  place,  in  the  war  of  minds,  of 
plots,  pillage,  incendiarism,  and  the  way-laying  of 
guerrilla   warfare.      When    he    has,    like    a   thousand 


216     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

others,  spent  a  fine  talent  in  the  service  of  the  pro- 
prietors, those  sellers  of  poison  will  let  him  die  of  hun- 
ger if  thirsty,  or  of  thirst  if  hungry." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Finot. 

"  But,  my  God  !  "  added  Vignon,  "  I  knew  all  that ; 
I  'm  in  the  galleys  myself,  and  the  arrival  of  a  new 
prisoner  gives  me  pleasure.  Blondet  and  I  are  much 
abler  than  Messrs.  So-and-so  who  are  speculating  on 
our  talents,  but  we  shall  alwa3's  be  worsted  by  them. 
We  have  a  heart  within  our  intellect,  and  we  lack  the 
ferocious  selfishness  of  the  men  who  are  getting  the 
best  of  us.  We  are  lazy,  contemplative,  meditative, 
judicial ;  the}'  suck  our  brains  and  accuse  us  of 
idleness  —  " 

"  I  expected  3'ou  to  be  much  more  amusing,"  cried 
Florine. 

"  Florine  is  right,"  said  Blondet;  "let  us  leave  the 
cure  of  public  evils  to  those  humbugs  the  statesmen. 
As  Charlet  sa3's  :   '  Don't  spit  into  the  vintage.'  " 

"  Do  you  know  how  Vignon  strikes  me?"  said  Lous- 
teau,  with  a  sign  towards  Lucien  ;  "  like  one  of  those 
stout  women  in  the  rue  du  Pelican  who  say  to  the 
schoolboys,  '  My  little  fellows,  you  are  too  young  to 
come  here.'  " 

This  sally  made  everybody  laugh  ;  but  Coralie  liked 
it.  The  three  tradesmen  were  eating  and  drinking  as 
they  listened. 

"In  what  nation  can  you  find  such  a  mixture  of  so 
much  good  and  so  much  evil?"  said  the  minister  to 
the  Due  de  Rhetore.  "  Ah,  gentlemen  !  you  are  prodi- 
gals who  somehow  don't  ruin  3'ourselves." 

Thus,  b}'  the  blessing  of  chance,  no  warning  was  lack- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    217 

ing  to  Lucien  as  he  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  precipice 
down  which  he  was  about  to  fall.  D'Arthez  had  set  the 
poet's  feet  in  the  noble  path  of  toil  by  awakening  those 
emotions  before  which  all  obstacles  disappear.  Lons- 
teau  himself  had  tried  to  warn  him  from  the  gulf,  for  a 
seltish  reason,  by  revealing  journalism  and  literature  in 
their  practical  aspects.  Lucien  had  not  been  willing 
to  believe  in  such  corruption ;  but  he  now  heard  jour- 
nalists themselves  proclaiming  their  own  vice  ;  he  saw 
them  ripping  up  their  own  foster-mother  to  predict  the 
future.  During  this  evening  he  was  made  to  see  things 
as  they  are.  Instead  of  being  filled  with  horror  at  this 
sight  of  the  very  core  of  the  Parisian  corruption  Blucher 
had  so  well  defined,  he  enjoyed  the  brilliant  scene  to 
intoxication.  These  remarkable  men,  in  the  poUshed 
armor  of  their  vice  and  the  shining  helmets  of  their 
analyses,  he  thought  far  superior  to  the  grave  and 
sober  members  of  the  brotherhood.  Besides,  he  was 
tasting  the  first  delights  of  wealth ;  he  was  under  the 
spell  of  luxur}^,  the  influence  of  choice  food ;  his  vola- 
tile instincts  were  all  awakened  ;  he  drank  for  the  first 
time  the  rarest  wine ;  he  made  acquaintance  with  the 
delicacies  of  Parisian  cookery ;  he  saw  a  diplomatist, 
with  a  duke  and  his  mistress,  mingling  with  journalists 
and  admiring  their  dangerous  power ;  he  felt  a  horrible 
craving  to  rule  this  societ}'  of  kings,  and  he  felt  wnthin 
him  the  power  of  mastering  it.  Besides  all  this, 
there  was  Coralie,  whom  he  had  made  happ}^  with  a 
few  words  ;  he  examined  her  in  the  dazzling  light  of 
that  festive  table,  through  the  fumes  of  the  viands  and 
the  mists  of  drunkenness,  and  she  seemed  to  him  sub- 
hme  ;  love  had  made  her  beautiful !     She  was,  in  fact, 


218     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

the  prettiest,  even  the  handsomest,  actress  of  her  daj*. 
The  brotherhood  —  that  assemblage  of  noble  intellects 
—  was  rejected  under  a  temptation  so  complete  on  all 
sides.  Lucien's  vanity  as  an  author  had  been  flattered 
b}'  able  judges ;  he  had  been  praised  b}'  future  rivals. 
The  success  of  his  article  and  the  conquest  of  Coralie 
were  triumphs  which  might  have  turned  a  head  less 
3'oung  than  his. 

Daring  this  discussion  the  whole  company  had  eaten 
well  and  drunk  enormously.  Lousteau,  who  was  sit- 
ting next  to  Camusot,  filled  up  his  neighbor's  glass 
from  time  to  time  with  kirsch,  mingling  it  with  the 
wine,  and  inciting  the  old  tradesman  to  drink.  This 
manoeuvre  was  so  adroitl}'  done  that  Camusot  did  not 
notice  it ;  he  thought  himself,  in  his  own  way,  as  clever 
as  the  journalists.  As  the  wine  circulated  more  freel}', 
the  speeches  and  jests  became  sharper  and  more  mali- 
cious. The  diplomatist  —  a  man  of  great  good  sense  — 
made  a  sign  to  the  duke  and  Tullia  as  soon  as  he  heard 
the  first  warnings  of  the  grotesque  condition  in  which 
these  men  of  wit  and  intellect  ended  their  orgies,  and 
the}^  all  three  quietl}'  disappeared.  As  soon  as  Camusot 
had  completel}^  lost  his  head,  Coralie  and  Lucien,  who 
had  made  love  to  each  other  during  supper  like  children 
of  fifteen,  slipped  down  the  stairs  and  jumped  into  a 
hackney-coach.  As  Camusot  was  under  the  table, 
Matifat  supposed  that  he  had  gone  too,  and  he  therefore 
left  the  rest  of  his  guests  smoking,  drinking,  laughing, 
arguing,  and  followed  Florine.  Daylight  overtook  the 
disputants,  or  rather  Blondet  alone,  a  hardened  drinker, 
w4io  proposed  the  health  of  the  rosy-fingered  Dawn  to 
the  sleepers  round  him. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    219 

Lucien  had  never  before  been  present  at  an  orgy ; 
he  was  still  in  full  possession  of  his  senses  as  he  went 
downstairs,  but  the  air  overcame  him  ;  his  intoxication 
was  hideous.  Coralie  and  her  maid  were  obliged  to 
almost  carr}^  him  up  the  stairs  of  the  handsome  house 
in  which  the  actress  lived,  — rue  de  Vendome.  On  the 
staircase,  Lucien,  almost  insensible,  was  ignobl}-  ill. 

"Quick,  Berenice!  "  cried  Coralie  ;  "some  tea  !  make 
some  tea !  " 

"It  is  nothing;  it  is  the  air,"  said  Lucien;  "and 
besides,  I  never  drank  so  much." 

"  Poor  bo}' !  he's  as  innocent  as  a  lamb,"  said  Bere- 
nice, a  stout  and  verj'  ugl}'  Norman  peasant-woman. 

Finally  Lucien  was  put  half-unconscious  into  Cora- 
lie's  bed,  —  the  actress,  aided  by  Berenice,  having  un- 
dressed him  with  the  care  and  tenderness  of  a  mother, 
while  he  still  kept  saying:  "It  is  nothing;  it  is  the 
air.     Thank  3-ou,  mamma  !  " 

'He  calls  rae  mamma!"   cried  Coralie,  kissing  his 
hair. 

"  What  pleasure  to  love  such  an  angel !  Where  did 
you  find  him?  I  never  thought  a  man  could  be  as 
handsome  as  a  girl,"  said  Berenice. 

"Did  the  porter  see  us,  or  anybody?"  said  Coralie. 

"No,"  said  Berenice  ;  "  I  let  3'ou  in  myself." 

"  Victoire  knows  nothing?" 

"No,  nothing,"  replied  Berenice. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  following  afternoon  Lucien 
opened  his  eyes  in  that  chamber  of  luxurv,  —  all  pink 
and  white ;  a  world  full  of  marvellous  and  coquettish 
charm,  which  surpassed  anything  the  poet  had  imagined. 
Coralie  was  dressing.     She  was  to  play  her  Andalusian 


220     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

part  again  that  evening,  and  was  obliged  to  be  at  the 
theatre  at  seven  o'clock.  She  had  contemplated  her 
poet  as  he  slept,  feeding  upon  this  new-born  love,  which 
united  the  senses  with  the  heart,  and  the  heart  with  the 
senses,  exalting  both.  This  exaltation,  making  them 
two  in  sense,  one  in  love,  was  to  her  an  absolution. 
Kneeling  thus  beside  the  bed,  happy  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  love  within  her,  the  actress  felt  herself 
sanctified. 

This  delight  was  broken  in  upon  by  Berenice. 

"  Camusot  is  coming  in ;  he  knows  you  are  at  home  !  " 
she  cried. 

Lucien  sprang  up,  anxious  with  natural  generosit}' 
not  to  injure  Coralie.  Berenice  drew  aside  a  curtain 
and  showed  him  into  a  dressing-room,  where  she  and 
her  mistress  hastily  put  his  clothes.  As  Camusot  en-, 
tered,  Lucien's  boots  caught  Coralie's  ej'e.  Berenice 
had  put  them  before  the  fire  to  warm,  after  privately 
polishing  them.  Both  maid  and  mistress  had  over- 
looked their  accusing  presence.  Coralie  flung  herself 
into  a  low  chair,  and  told  Camusot  to  take  the  armchair 
opposite.  The  old  man,  who  adored  her,  looked  at  the 
boots,  and  dared  not  raise  his  eyes  to  his  mistress. 

"  Ouoht  I  to  take  offence  at  those  boots  and  let  her 
go  ?  "  he  thought.  "  It  is  a  small  thing  to  be  angry 
about.  Boots  may  be  anywhere.  These  had  better  be 
at  the  bootmaker's,  or  walking  the  boulevards  on  a 
man's  legs.  But  here,  even  without  legs,  they  throw 
doubts  on  fidelit}'.  I  am  fift}-  3'ears  old, — yes,  that  is 
true  ;  better  be  blind,  like  love  itself.'' 

That  weak  and  cowardly  monologue  had  no  excuse. 
The  boots  were  not  like  the  boots  of  the  present  day, 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    221 

which  a  preoccupied  man  might  easil}'  overlook ;  they 
were  such  as  the  fashion  of  the  period  required,  —  high 
boots,  very  elegant  with  tassels,  and  highly  poHshed, 
which  reflected  the  articles  about  them  like  a  mirror. 
They  could  not  but  strike  the  eyes  of  the  worthy  shop- 
keeper ;  and,  let  us  own,  the}-  struck  his  heart. 

"  AVhat  is  the  matter?"  said  Coralie. 

''Nothing,"  he  answered, 

"Ring  the  bell,"  she  said,  smiling  at  his  cowardice. 
^' Berenice,"  she  added  as  the  woman  entered,  "don't 
forget  to  take  those  boots  to  my  dressing-room  to-night, 
and  bring  a  button-hook  ;  for  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to 
wear  the  cursed  things." 

"Your  boots?  are  those  your  boots?"  said  Camusot, 
who  breathed  again. 

"Whose  did  you  suppose  they  were?"  she  asked 
with  a  haughty  look.  "  Old  fool !  I  hope  j'ou  don't  sup- 
pose —  Oh  !  he  did  suppose  it !  "  she  added  to  Bere'nice. 
"  I  play  the  part  of  a  man  in  that  piece  of  Berthier's, 
and  I  never  wore  a  man's  dress  before.  The  bootmaker 
of  the  theatre  brought  me  those  things  to  learn  to  walk 
in  boots  while  he  makes  me  a  pair  to  measure.  He  put 
them  on,  but  thev  hurt  me  so  I  had  to  take  them  off." 

"  Don't  put  them  on  again  if  they  hurt  you,"  said 
Camusot,  who  had  himself  suffered  more  from  the  boots 
than  his  mistress. 

"  Mademoiselle  cried,  they  hurt  her  so,"  said  Berenice  ; 
'^  and  I  tell  her  she  ought  to  have  them  made  of  soft 
morocco.  But  the  management  is  so  mean  !  Monsieur, 
you  might  order  her  a  pair." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Camusot.  "Are  you  only 
just  up,  mademoiselle?  " 


222     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

"  Just  this  minute  ;  I  did  n't  get  home  till  six  o'clock, 
after  hunting  eveiywhere  for  3'ou.  You  made  me  keep 
my  hackney-coach  seven  whole  hours !  That 's  what 
you  call  tender  attentions  !  —  forgetting  me  for  the  bot- 
tles !  I  ought  to  take  care  of  myself,  now  that  I  have 
to  pla}'  in  the  Alcalde  ever}'  night ;  I  don't  want  to  fall 
behind  that  young  man's  article." 

"He   is  handsome,  that  3'oung  fellow,  isn't  he?" 
said  Camusot. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  I  don't  like  men  of  that  kind,  — 
they  are  too  much  like  women  ;  the}'  don't  know  how 
to  make  love  like  you  old  business  men.  You  are  so 
bored  without  it.*' 

"Does  monsieur  dine  with  madame?"  asked 
Berenice. 

"  No,  my  mouth  is  parched." 

"Ha!  you  were  finely  fuddled  last  night,  papa 
Camusot ;  I  don't  like  men  who  get  drunk  —  " 

"  Do  you  want  to  give  that  young  man  a  present?  " 
said  Camusot. 

"  Yes,  I  prefer  to  pay  them  in  money  rather  than  do 
as  Florine  does.  Come,  go  away,  bad  old  soul  that  one 
can't  help  loving,  or  else  give  me  a  carriage  ;  for  I  can't 
afford  to  lose  my  time." 

"  You  shall  have  the  carriage  to-morrow  in  time  for 
the  manager's  dinner  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale.  They 
don't  play  the  new  piece  Sunday." 

"  Come,  I  am  going  to  get  some  dinner,"  said  Coralie, 
carrying  him  off. 

Soon  after,  Lucien  was  let  out  of  the  dressing-room 
bv  Berenice. 

' '  Stay  here,"   she  said  ' '  Coralie  will  return  alone. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris.    223 

She  is  ready  to  give  up  Camiisot  and  send  him  off,  if 
you  wish  it ;  but,  dear  child  of  her  heart,  3'ou  are  too 
kind,  I  'm  sure,  to  ruin  her.  She  told  me  she  was  quite 
decided  to  give  up  everything  and  leave  this  paradise 
to  live  in  your  garret.  Ah  !  that  envious  lot  about  her, 
the}'  told  her  3'ou  had  neither  bite  nor  sup,  and  lived  in 
a  garret  in  the  Latin  quarter !  I  should  follow,  that 's 
certain,  and  do  3'our  cooking.  But,  monsieur,  you  have 
too  much  sense  to  let  her  commit  such  a  foil}'.  Don't 
you  see  ?  —  the  old  one  has  only  the  shell,  but  you  are  the 
darling  of  her  heart,  the  god  she  gives  her  soul  to.  If 
vou  onlv  knew  how  ojood  and  sweet  mv  Coralie  is  when 

ft  «.  <zj  •/ 

I  make  her  learn  her  parts  !  a  dear  darling  of  a  child  ! 
She  deserved  that  God  should  send  her  an  angel,  for 
she  is  disgusted  with  life.  Her  mother  was  so  bad  to 
her,  and  beat  her,  and  sold  her !  Yes,  monsieur,  her 
mother,  her  own  mother  sold  her  !  If  I  had  had  a  child 
she  could  n't  be  more  to  me  than  my  little  Coralie  ;  and 
this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  her  happy,  —  the  first 
time,  too,  she  has  ever  been  really  applauded.  It  seems 
you  've  written  something,  and  they  have  set  on  a  great 
force  of  claqueurs  for  to-night ;  Braulardcame  while  you 
were  asleep  and  arranged  it  with  her  —  " 

"  Braulard  !  who  is  he?"  asked  Lucien,  who  thought 
he  remembered  the  name. 

' '  The  head  of  the  claqueurs  ;  he  arranged  with  her 
all  the  places  where  the  clapping  is  to  come  in.  Although 
she  calls  herself  her  friend,  Florine  is  quite  capable  of 
playing  her  some  ugly  trick  and  getting  all  the  applause 
for  herself.  Your  article  has  made  a  commotion,  I  can 
tell  you." 

So  saying,  she  lighted  the  wax-candles  ;  and  by  their 


224       Great  Mmi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

light,  Liicien,  dazzled,  began  to  think  himself  in  the 
palace  of  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies.  Camiisot  had 
selected  the  richest  stuffs  in  the  "  Cocond'Or"  for  the 
hanoings  on  the  walls,  and  the  window  curtains.  The 
poet's  feet  sank  in  a  regal  carpet.  The  carvings  of  the 
choice  woodwork  caught  shimmerings  of  light  from  the 
tapers.  The  chimne3'-piece  of  white  marble  glittered 
with  costly  ornaments.  A  lamp  hung  from  the  ceiling, 
which  was  fluted  with  silk.  Jardinieres  were  everywhere, 
filled  with  choice  plants,  beautiful  white  heath,  and 
camellias  without  fragrance,  tokens  of  innocence  !  How 
was  it  possible  to  imagine  that  the  life  of  an  actress 
and  the  morals  of  a  theatre  were  here  ?  Berenice  noticed 
Lucien's  astonishment. 

"Isnt  it  pretty?"  she  said,  in  a  wheedling  voice. 
"  Won't  you  both  be  much  happier  here  than  in  a  gar- 
ret? Don't  let  her  do  such  a  desperate  thing,"  she 
continued,  placing  a  tray  before  him,  with  dishes  taken 
surreptitiously  from  her  mistress's  dinner,  that  the  cook 
might  not  suspect  the  presence  of  a  lover. 

Lucien  dined  well,  —  served  by  Berenice  on  plates 
painted  at  a  cost  of  a  louis  apiece,  with  silver  of  the 
last  fashion  of  engraving.  At  half-past  ten  o'clock 
Coralie  returned. 

The  next  day,  by  two  in  the  afternoon,  the  actress 
and  her  lover  were  dressed  and  sitting  together  as 
though  the  new  journalist  had  simply  called  to  pay  a 
visit  to  his  protegee.  Coralie  had  bathed  and  combed 
and  brushed  and  dressed  Lucien  ;  she  had  sent  Berenice 
to  buv  him  a  dozen  of  the  finest  shirts,  a  dozen  cravats, 
a  dozen  handkerchiefs  from  Colleau,  and  a  dozen  pair 
of  gloves  in  a  sandal-wood  box.     AYhen  she  heard  the 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    225 

sound  of  a  carriage  stopping  before  the  door  she  rushed 
to  the  window,  followed  by  Lucien,  and  together  they 
saw  Camusot  getting  out  of  a  handsome  coupe. 

*'I  never  believed,"  she  said,  "that  I  should  come 
to  hate  a  man  and  his  luxury." 

"I  am  too  poor  to  consent  to  your  relinquishing 
them,"  said  Lucien,  putting  the  halter  of  degradation 
about  his  neck. 

"  Poor  dear !  "  she  said,  pressing  him  to  her  heart; 
"then  indeed  you  love  me  well!  I  asked  monsieur," 
she  said  to  Camusot,  with  a  motion  towards  Lucien, 
"to  come  here  this  morning,  thinking  we  might  drive 
in  the  Champ  Elysees  and  try  the  new  carriage." 

"You  must  go  without  me,"  said  Camusot,  ruefully. 
'^  I  can't  dine  with  you  ;  this  is  my  wife's  fete  day,  and 
I  had  forgotten  it." 

"Poor  Musot!  what  a  dismal  day  you  will  have!" 
she  said,  throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

She  was  wild  with  happiness  at  the  thought  that  she 
could  drive  alone  with  Lucien  in  the  beautiful  coupe, 
and  in  the  rush  of  her  joy  she  seemed  actually  to  love 
Camusot,  whom  she  petted  and  caressed. 

"I  should  like  to  be  able  to  give  you  a  carriage 
every  day,"  said  the  poor  man. 

"  Come,  monsieur,  it  is  getting  late,"  said  the  actress, 
seeing  the  look  of  shame  on  Lucien's  face,  and  trying 
to  console  him  with  a  prett}'  gesture. 

She  ran  rapidly  down  the  stairs,  followed  b}'  Lucien, 
who  heard  the  silk  mercer  following  like  a  walrus,  but 
unable  to  overtake  them.  The  poet  was  intoxicated 
with  dehght ;  Coralie,  made  beautiful  by  happiness, 
wore  an  elegant  toilet  in  charming  taste.     The  Paris 

15 


226     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

of  the  Champ  Elysees  admired  these  lovers.  In  an 
avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  their  coupe  met  the 
caleche  of  Mesdames  d'Espard  and  de  Barge  ton,  who 
looked  at  Lucien  with  an  amazed  air ;  the  poet  re- 
turned the  o;lance  with  the  scornful  eve  of  one  who 
feels  his  coming  power  and  means  to  use  it.  That 
moment,  when  with  a  glance  he  cast  back  to  the  two 
women  the  thoughts  of  vengeance  the}-  had  put  into  his 
heart  to  corrode  it,  was  one  of  the  sweetest  of  his  life, 
and  may  perhaps  have  decided  his  destiny.  Lucien 
was  once  more  seized  b}-  the  demons  of  pride :  he 
longed  to  reappear  in  society' ;  to  take  some  startling 
revenge  ;  and  all  the  social  pettinesses  which,  as  a  toiler 
and  a  member  of  the  brotherhood  he  had  put  behind 
him,  returned  to  his  soul.  He  understood  the  full  value 
of  the  attack  Lousteau  had  made  for  him.  Lousteau 
had  served  his  passions,  whereas  the  brotherhood, 
that  collective  mentor,  had  sought  to  curb  them  in 
the  interests  of  the  wearisome  toil  and  virtue  which 
Lucien  was  beginning  to  consider  useless.  Toil !  what 
was  that  but  the  death  of  souls  eager  for  enjoj^ment? 
How  readily  do  writers  slip  into  the  dolce  far  niente 
of  good  living  and  the  luxurious  delights  of  actresses 
and  easy  women.  Lucien  was  now  possessed  by  an 
irresistible  desire  to  continue  the  life  of  the  last  two 
intoxicating  da3's. 

The  dinner  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale  was  exquisite. 
All  Florine's  guests  were  there  except  the  German 
minister,  the  duke,  and  the  danseuse ;  except  also 
Camusot.  In  their  places  were  two  distinguished  ac- 
tors and  Hector  Merlin,  accompanied  b}^  his  mistress, 
a  fascinating  creature  who  called  herself  Madame  du 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    227 

Val-Noble,  the  handsomest  and  most  elegant  of  the 
women  who  formed  at  that  time  the  questionable  class 
who  in  these  days  are  called  lorettes.  Lucien,  who  had 
lived  retired  for  the  last  forty-eight  hours  in  paradise, 
now  heard  of  the  success  of  his  article.  Beholdins: 
himself  sought  after,  flattered,  and  envied,  the  poet 
gained  assurance  ;  his  wit  sparkled,  and  he  was  for 
the  first  time  the  Lucien  de  Rubempre  who  shone  for 
many  months  in  the  literary  and  artistic  society  of 
Paris.  Finot,  a  man  of  undeniable  abilit}'  in  discov- 
ering talent,  scenting  it  as  an  ogre  scents  blood,  cajoled 
Lucien  for  the  purpose  of  committing  him  to  the  squad- 
ron of  journalists  whom  he  himself  commanded.  Lucien 
was  readily  taken  by  such  flatteries  ;  but  Coralie,  ob- 
serving the  game  of  that  absorber  of  intellects,  tried  to 
put  Lucien  on  his  guard  against  him. 

"  Don't  commit  yourself,  dear  !  "  she  said  to  her  poet; 
"wait  awhile  ;  the}'  want  to  use  you  for  their  own  ends; 
we  '11  talk  about  it  to-night." 

"Pooh!"  answered  Lucien;  "I  am  strong  enough 
to  be  as  shrewd  and  as  clever  as  the}'." 

Finot,  who  had  evidently  not  quarrelled  perma- 
nently with  Hector  Merlin  about  the  blank  lines,  pre- 
sented Merlin  to  Lucien,  and  Lucien  to  Merlin.  Coralie 
and  Madame  du  Val-Noble  fraternized,  and  the  latter 
invited  Lucien  and  Coralie  to  dinner.  Hector  Merlin, 
the  most  dangerous  of  all  the  journalists  present,  was  a 
small,  spare  man  with  pinched  lips,  who  nursed  an  un- 
bounded ambition  and  an  uncontrollable  jealous}'  of  all 
talent ;  he  rejoiced  in  the  harm  he  did  to  others,  and 
profited  by  the  quarrels  he  fomented.  Plis  mind  was 
good,  bis  will  weak  ;  but  in  place  of  will  he  possessed 


228     Great  Mmi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

the  instinct  which  leads  a  self-made  man  to  the  most 
available  regions  of  wealth  and  power.  Lucien  and  he 
disliked  each  other  at  once.  It  is  not  difficult  to  ex- 
plain wh}'.  Merlin  said  aloud  w4iat  Lucien  thought  in 
his  heart,  ^y  the  time  dessert  was  served,  the  closest 
bonds  of  friendship  seemed  to  unite  all  these  men,  each 
of  them  meanwhile  thinking  himself  superior  to  the 
rest.  Lucien,  the  new-comer,  was  the  centre  of  their 
attentions.  They  all  welcomed  him  with  the  utmost 
heartiness  except  Hector  Merlin,  who  alone  was  seri- 
ous.    Lucien  asked  him  the  reason  of  such  reserve. 

"  I  see  3'ou  entering  this  literary  and  journalistic  life 
with  illusions.  You  believe  you  are  making  friends. 
AVe  are  all  friends  or  enemies  according  to  circum- 
stances. We  strike  ourselves  with  the  weapons  we 
ought  to  use  only  to  strike  others.  You  will  find  out  be- 
fore long  that  you  will  gain  nothing  b}^  fine  sentiments. 
If  you  are  kindh',  make  3ourself  ill-natured  ;  be  surl}-  on 
principle.  If  no  one  else  has  told  3'ou  this  first  law,  I 
give  it  to  you  now ;  and  it  is  a  gift  that  is  worth  the 
having.  If  3'ou  wish  to  be  loved,  never  leave  your 
mistress  without  having  made  her  weep  ;  if  3'Ou  wish  to 
make  your  fortune  in  literature,  wound  ever3'  one,  even 
3'our  friends  ;  make  the  self-loves  suflTer ;  and  all  the 
world  will  court  you." 

Hector  Merlin  was  gratified  when  he  saw  by  Lucien's 
manner  that  the  blade  of  that  dagger  had  gone  to  his 
heart.  The3^  played ;  Lucien  lost  all  his  mone3'.  He  was 
carried  oflf  b3^  Coralie,  and  the  delights  of  love  made  him 
forget  the  terrible  emotions  of  gambling,  to  which  he  after- 
wards became  a  victim.  The  next  da3',  on  leaving  his 
mistress  and  returning  to  the  Latin  quarter,  he  found  in 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      229 

his  purse  the  monej'  he  had  lost.  This  kindness  at  first 
distressed  him  ;  he  thought  of  going  back  and  return- 
ing a  gift  which  humiliated  him ;  but  he  had  reached 
the  rue  de  la  Harpe,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  he 
continued  on  his  wa}'  to  the  rue  de  Clun}'.  As  he  went 
along,  his  mind  was  full  of  this  kindness  of  Coralie  ;  it 
was  one  proof  the  more  of  that  maternal  tenderness 
which  women  of  her  sort  mingle  with  their  passions. 
Going  from  thought  to  thought,  Lucien  ended  by  find- 
ing a  reason  for  accepting  the  bount}'.  "I  love  her," 
bethought;  '•  we  will  live  together  as  man  and  wife, 
and  I  will  never  leave  her." 


230       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


XIV. 

A    LAST    AaSIT   TO    THE    BROTHERHOOD. 

Unless  we  are  Diogenes,  we  shall  surely  be  able  to 
enter  into  Lucien's  sensations  as  he  ran  up  the  muddj^ 
and  evil-smelling  stairway  of  his  house,  and  turned  his 
key  in  the  creaking  lock  of  the  door,  and  saw  the  dirty 
floor  and  miserable  fireplace  of  his  bare  and  wretched 
room.  On  the  table  lay  the  manuscript  of  his  novel, 
and  the  following  note  from  Daniel  d'Arthez  :  — 

Our  friends  are  almost  satisfied  with  your  work,  dear 
poet.  You  can  offer  it,  they  think,  to  friends  and  enemies 
with  confidence.  We  have  read  your  charming  article  on 
the  Panorama-Dramatique,  and  think  you  will  rouse  as 
much  envy  in  journalism  as  you  have  caused  regrets  in  us. 

Daniel. 

"  Regrets!  what  does  he  mean?"  cried  Lucien,  sur- 
prised at  the  tone  of  politeness  which  pervaded  the 
note.  Did  the  brotherhood  now  regard  him  as  an  alien? 
After  devouring  the  delicious  fruit  the  Eve  of  the 
coulisses  had  put  to  his  lips,  he  still  wanted  the  respect 
and  friendship  of  his  friends  in  the  rue  des  Quatre- 
Vents.  He  remained  a  few  moments  lost  in  meditation 
on  his  present  existence  in  that  wretched  room  and  his 
future  life  in  that  of  Coralie.  Harassed  by  doubts  and 
a  hesitation  alternately  honorable  and  depraved,  he  sat 
down  and  began  to  examine  the  condition  in  which  his 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      231 

friends  had  returned  his  work.  What  was  his  astonish- 
ment to  find  that  in  chapter  after  chapter  the  able  and 
devoted  pens  of  these  great  minds,  still  unknown,  had 
changed  his  povert}'  to  riches.  A  teeming,  concise,  and 
nervous  dialogue  took  the  place  of  conversations  which 
he  now  could  see  were  merel}^  word}'  compared  with 
this  brilUant  talk  which  breathed  the  spirit  of  the  age. 
His  portraits,  rather  tame  in  outline,  had  been  vigor- 
ously touched-up  and  colored ;  some  were  connected 
with  the  phenomena  of  human  life  b}'  ph3'siological  ob- 
servations due  no  doubt  to  Bianchon,  and  given  with  a 
delicate  shrewdness  which  made  them  living.  His  de- 
scriptions, too,  also  word}',  now  had  substance  and  vigor. 
He  had  given  an  ill-made,  ill-clothed  child,  and  his 
friends  had  returned  to  him  a  charming  3'oung  girl  in  a 
white  robe.  Night  found  him,  with  tears  in  his  e3'es, 
subdued  b}'  such  wisdom,  feeling  the  value  of  such  a 
lesson,  admiring  the  corrections,  which  taught  him  more 
of  literature  and  art  than  all  his  four  3'ears  of  reading, 
stud3',  and  comparison  put  together.  The  correction 
of  a  sketch  ill-drawn,  a  masterl3"  stroke  at  the  heart 
of  the  matter,  will  often  teach  far  more  than  theories 
and  observations. 

"What  friends!  what  hearts!  ah,  how  fortunate  I 
am  !  "  he  cried,  as  he  folded  the  manuscript. 

Carried  awa3'  b3'  the  emotion  of  his  poetic  and  vola- 
tile nature,  he  rushed  to  Daniel's  room.  As  he  went 
up  the  staircase,  it  came  into  his  mind  that  he  was  now 
less  worth}^  of  these  hearts,  none  of  which  could  be 
swa3'ed  from  the  path  of  honor.  A  voice  told  him  that 
if  Daniel  had  loved  Coralie  he  would  never  have  ac- 
cepted her  with  Camusot.  He  knew  the  horror  the 
brethren  all  felt  for  journalists,  and  now  he  was  one. 


232      Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

He  found  his  friends,  except  Mej-raux,  all  assembled  ; 
anguish  was  on  every  face. 

^'  What  has  happened,  friends?"  exclaimed  Lucien. 

"  We  have  just  heard  of  a  dreadful  catastrophe. 
The  greatest  mind  of  our  epocli,  our  dearest  friend,  he 
who  for  two  years  has  been  our  light  —  " 

"  Louis  Lambert?  "  asked  Lucien. 

"  Yes,  he  has  fallen  into  a  state  of  catalepsy  which 
leaves  no  hope,"  said  Bianchon. 

"  He  is  dead  in  a  senseless  body,  with  his  mind  in  the 
skies,"  added  Michel  Chrestien,  solemnly. 

"  He  will  die  as  he  lived,"  said  d'Arthez. 

"  Love  was  like  a  fire  in  the  vast  empire  of  his  brain  ; 
it  became  a  conflagration,"  said  Leon  Giraud. 

"Yes,"  said  Joseph  Bridau,  "he  exalted  it  out  of 
sight  of  men." 

"  It  is  we  who  must  be  pitied/'  said  Fulgence  Ridal. 

"  Perhaps  he  may  recover,"  said  Lucien. 

"  If  what  Meyraux  told  us  is  true,  recover}^  is  impos- 
sible," replied  Bianchon.  "  His  head  is  the  theatre  of 
phenomena  over  which  the  medical  art  has  no  power." 

"  But  there  are  agents  — "  began  d'Arthez. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bianchon,  "he  is  now  only  cataleptic; 
we  might  make  him  imbecile." 

"  Ah !  if  we  could  but  offer  a  head  to  the  Genius  of 
Evil  in  exchange  for  his,  I  would  gladly  give  mine," 
cried  Michel  Chrestien. 

"  What  would  become  of  European  federation?" 

"True,"  replied  Chrestien;  "before  serving  indi- 
vidual man  we  must  serve  humanitj'." 

"  I  came  here  to-night  with  my  heart  full  of  grati- 
tude to  you  all,"  said  Lucien.  "  You  have  changed 
my  coppers  into  louis  d'or." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       233 

"  Wh}'  thanks  ?  You  do  not  yet  understand  us,"  said 
Bianchon. 

"  The  pleasure  is  all  on  our  side,"  said  Fulgence. 

"Well,  so  here  you  are,  a  journalist!"  said  Leon 
Giraud.  "  The  fame  of  j'our  first  appearance  has 
reached  even  the  Latin  quarter." 

"  I  am  not  3'et  a  journalist,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Ah  !  so  much  the  better  !  "  cried  Michel  Chrestien. 

"I  told  3'ou  so,"  said  d'Arthez.  "Lucien  has  a 
heart  that  knows  the  value  of  a  pure  conscience  ;  he 
feels  what  a  strengthening  viaticum  it  is  to  la}'  one's 
head  upon  the  pillow  and  saj' :  '  I  have  judged  no  one, 
I  have  made  no  one  suffer,  my  wit  is  not  a  dagger 
thrust  into  harmless  souls  ;  it  has  immolated  no  happi- 
ness, it  has  not  even  troubled  contented  follv  ;  above 
all,  I  have  never  unjustly  dealt  with  genius,  I  have  de- 
spised the  easy  triumphs  of  satire,  I  have  not  played 
false  to  my  convictions  —  '  " 

"  But,"  said  Lucien,  "  I  think  it  possible  to  keep  to 
that  standard  and  yet  work  at  journalism.  If  I  find 
no  other  waj'  of  living  I  shall  have  to  come  to  it." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!"  cried  Fulgence,  going  up  one  note 
at  each  exclamation  ;   "3'ou  are  capitulating." 

"  He  will  be  a  journalist,"  said  Leon  Giraud,  gravely. 
"  Ah  !  Lucien,  if  you  would  onl}^  stay  with  us  !  for  we 
mean  some  day  to  publish  a  paper  in  which  neither 
truth  nor  justice  shall  be  violated, —  a  paper  in  which  to 
spread  the  doctrines  useful  to  humanity  —  " 

"You  won't  get  a  single  subscriber,"  said  Lucien, 
interrupting  Leon  with  a  Machiavelian  air. 

"  They  will  have  five  hundred,  worth  five  thousand 
of  the  world's  kind/'  said  Michel  Chrestien. 


234       Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

"  You  need  capital,"  returned  Lucien. 

"  No,"  said  d'Arthez,  "  devotion." 

"  Ah  !  Lucien,  you  are  like  a  perfumer's  shop,"  cried 
Michel  Chrestien,  with  a  comic  sniff  at  the  poet's  head. 
"I'm  told  3'ou 've  been  seen  in  a  gorgeous  carriage 
drawn  b}'  blood  horses,  and  seated  beside  the  mistress 
of  a  prince  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Lucien,  "  wliere's  the  harm  of  that?  " 

"You  say  that  as  if  there  were  some  harm,"  cried 
Bianchon. 

"  I  wish  Lucien  had  a  Beatrice,"  said  d'Arthez, 
"  some  noble  woman  to  sustain  him  in  life  —  " 

"  But,  Daniel,  is  not  love  the  same  wherever  we  find 
it?"  asked  the  poet. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Chrestien  the  republican,  "  in  that  I  am 
an  aristocrat.  I  could  not  love  a  woman  whom  actors 
kiss  on  the  stage,  who  bows  and  smiles  to  a  public 
crowd,  and  holds  up  her  petticoats  in  dancing,  or  dresses 
as  a  man  to  show  that  which  ought  not  to  be  seen ; 
or,  if  I  did  love  such  a  woman,  she  should  leave  tlie 
stage  ;  I  would  purify  her  by  my  love." 

"  But  suppose  she  could  n't  leave  the  stage?" 

"  I  should  die  of  grief,  of  jealousy,  of  a  thousand 
miseries.  You  can't  tear  a  love  from  the  heart  like  a 
tooth  from  the  gum." 

Lucien  grew  thoughtful  and  gloomy.  "  If  they  were 
to  know  that  I  submit  to  Camusot,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  the3'  would  despise  me." 

"Look  here,  Lucien,"  said  the  stern  republican,  with 
grim  good-humor,  "  you  can  be  a  great  writer  if  you 
will,  but  I  greatly  fear  you  will  never  be  anything  more 
than  a  paltr}-  wit." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       235 

So  saj'ing,  he  took  his  hat  and  went  out. 

"  He  is  merciless,"  said  the  poet. 

"  Merciless  and  salutary  as  a  dentist's  forceps,"  said 
Bianchon.  '•  Michel  looks  to  3'our  future,  and  perhaps 
at  this  moment  he  is  weeping  over  you  as  he  walks 
along." 

D'Arthez  was  gentle  and  consoling ;  he  tried  to  raise 
Lucien's  courage  ;  but  it  was  hopeless.     At  the  end  of 
an  hour  Lucien  left  the   brotherhood,  tortured  by  his 
conscience,   which  cried    to   him,    like  the   witches  to 
Macbeth,  "  Thou  shalt  be  journalist !  "  From  the  street 
he  looked  up  at  the  diml}'  lighted  window  of  the  pa- 
tient d'Arthez  ;  then  he  returned  to  his  own  poor  room 
with  a  saddened  heart  and  a  fearsome  mind.     A  pre- 
sentiment told  him  he  had  been  taken  to  the  hearts  of 
those  true  friends  for  the  last  time.     As  he  entered  tlie 
rue  de  Cluny  from  the  place  de  la  Sorbonne  he  recog- 
nized Coralie's  new  carriage.     To  see  her  poet  for  a 
moment,  to  wish  him  good-night,  she  had  come  the  long 
distance  from  the  Boulevard  du  Temple  to  the  Sor- 
bonne.    Lucien  found  her  in  tears  at  the  mere  sight  of 
his  garret ;  she  wanted,  she  said,  to  be  as  miserable  as 
he,  and  she  wept  as  she  laid  the  shirts  and  gloves  and 
handkerchiefs  she  had  brought  with  her  in  the  worthless 
old  bureau  of  the  garret.     Her  grief  was   so  true,  so 
great,  that  Lucien,  who  had  just  heard   actresses  con- 
demned, thought  her  a  saint  eager,  out  of  love,  to  wear 
the  hair-cloth  of  povert}'.     Her  pretext  for  coming  was 
to  tell  Lucien  that  the  Camusot  household  was  about 
to  return  the  Matifat  supper,  and  to  ask  her  friend  if 
there  were  any  invitations  it  would  be  to  his  interest  to 
give.    Lucien  replied  that  he  would  ask  Lousteau,  and 


236       Great  Man  of  the  Provmces  in  Paris. 

Coralie  hastened  awa}^,  not  telling  Lucien  that  Camusot 
was  waiting  for  her  in  the  carriage. 

The  next  da}^,  b}'  eight  o'clock,  Lncien  went  to  see 
Etienne  at  his  lodgings  ;  the  editor  was  not  there,  and 
he  followed  him  to  Florine's.  There  he  found  them 
breakfasting  together  in  conjugal  fashion,  and  they  in- 
vited Lucien  to  join  them. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Lousteau,  when  they  were  all 
three  at  table,  and  Lucien  had  told  of  the  supper  to  be 
given  b}'  Coralie,  "  I  advise  you  to  come  with  me  and 
invite  Felicien  Vernou,  and  to  get  as  intimate  with  him 
as  3'ou  can  be  with  such  an  utter  scoundrel.  Felicien 
ma}^  be  able  to  get  you  a  footing  on  the  political  paper 
for  which  he  cooks  the  feuilleton  ;  and  there  you  could 
flourish  at  your  ease  in  the  highest  styles  of  journalism 
and  write  fine  articles.  His  paper,  like  ours,  belongs 
to  the  Liberals,  —  that 's  the  popular  party  ;  besides,  if 
you  w^anted  later  to  be  on  the  ministerial  side  3'ou  would 
have  all  the  advantages  of  being  feared.  Hector  Mer- 
lin and  his  Madame  du  Val-Noble  have  asked  you  and 
Coralie  to  dinner,  have  n't  they?  You  '11  meet  several 
great  people  there,  dandies,  millionnaires." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucien,  '^  and  you  are  to  be  asked  too, 
with  Florine." 

"Well,  Merlin  will  be  at  the  office;  the  rascal  is 
always  after  Finot ;  you  had  better  make  much  of  him 
and  ask  him  to  Coralie's  supper.  Very  likely  he  '11  do 
you  some  service  ;  spiteful  men  want  everj'body's  help, 
and  he  'd  pa}'  well  for  your  pen  in  an  emergenc}'." 

"  Your  article  has  made  sensation  enough  to  open 
the  way  for  you,"  said  Florine,  "Take  advantage  of  it 
instantly,  otherwise  you  '11  soon  be  forgotten." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    237 

"The  great  affair  is  settled,"  said  Lousteau.  "  Finot, 
that  fellow  without  any  talent  whatever,  is  manager 
and  editor-in-chief  of  Dauriat's  weekh'  journal,  with  a 
salar}'  of  six  hundred  francs  a  month.  I  am,  from  this 
da}'  forth,  editor-in-chief  of  the  little  journal.  Every- 
thing happened  as  I  predicted  the  other  evening.  Flo- 
ine  has  been  superb ;  she  might  give  points  to 
Talleyrand." 

"  We  women   hold  men    by   their   pleasures,"    said 
Florine,  "  diplomatists  hold  them  only  b}'  their  interests  ;- 
diplomatists   watch   their   manoeuvres,    we  watch   their 
follies, — that's  wh}'  we  are  so  powerful." 

"  The  upshot  of  it  is,  m}'  dear  fellow,  that  it  puts 
your  foot  in  the  stirrup,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  You  were  born  with  a  lucky  spoon  in  3'our  mouth," 
said  Florine.  "  Look  at  the  crowd  of  poor  young  fel- 
lows who  hang  about  Paris  for  3'ears  and  can't  get  even 
a  single  article  into  a  newspaper.  It  will  be  with  3'ou 
just  as  it  was  with  Emile  Blondet.  Six  months  hence 
I  shall  see  3'ou  carr3'ing  matters  with  a  high  hand  and 
lording  it  over  everybody,"  she  added  with  a  satirical 
smile. 

"  Have  n't  I  been  in  Paris  for  three  3'ears  ? "  said 
Lousteau;  "and  it  was  onlv  vesterdav  that  I  secured 
from  Finot  three  hundred  francs  a  month  for  the  editor- 
ship, and  a  hundred  francs  a  column,  and  another  hun- 
dred for  an  article  in  his  weekly." 

"Well,"  said  Florine,  looking  at  Lucien,  "haven't 
vou  anvthins;  to  say?" 

"I'll  wait  and  see,"  replied  Lucien. 

"  M3'  dear  fellow,"  said  Lousteau,  evidentl3'  an- 
no3'ed,  "  I  have  done  for  3^ou  as  I  would  for  m)"  own 


238     Great  Man  oj  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

brother  ;  but  I  won't  answer  for  Finot.  Finot  will  be 
pursued  and  badgered  during  the  next  two  da3's  l\y  a 
hundred  other  writers  who  will  offer  to  do  the  work  at 
a  discount.  I  have  engaged  it  for  you  ;  of  course  you 
can  refuse  it  if  3'ou  choose.  You  surely  don't  distrust 
3^our  luck?"  continued  the  journalist,  after  a  pause. 
"It  brings  3'ou  into  a  clique  of  writers  who  attack 
each  other's  enemies  in  various  journals  and  do  mutual 
service." 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  let  us  go  and  see  Felicien 
Vernou,"  said  Lucien,  who  was  really  eager  to  all}' 
himself  with  these  dangerous  birds  of  prey. 


Great  Ma7i  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     239 


XV. 

THE    ARCANA    OF    JOURNALISM. 

LousTEAu  sent  for  a  cabriolet,  and  the  two  friends 
drove  to  the  rue  Mandar,  where  Vernou  lived  in  a 
house  that  was  np  a  court,  where  he  occupied  an  apart- 
ment on  the  second  floor.  Lucien  was  much  astonished 
to  find  this  bitter,  disdainful,  hypercritical  critic  break- 
fasting in  a  dining-room  of  tiie  utmost  vulgarity,  hung 
with  an  imitation  tile-paper  and  lithographs  in  gilt 
frames,  in  company  with  a  woman  too  ugly  to  be  an}'- 
thing  but  legitimate,  and  two  small  children  perched  on 
high  chairs  with  bars  to  hold  them  in.  Caught  in  a 
dressing-ofown  constructed  of  an  old  cotton  gowni  of  his 
wife's,  Vernou  looked  none  too  pleased. 

"Have  3'ou  breakfasted,  Lousteau?"  he  said,  offer- 
ing a  chair  to  Lucien. 

"  Yes,  with  Florine,"  said  Etienne. 

Lucien  was  still  examining  Madame  Vernou,  who  was 
like  a  comfortable  fat  cook;  quite  fair,  but  superlativeh^ 
common.  She  wore  a  foulard  handkerchief  over  a  night- 
cap tied  on  with  strings  which  her  cheeks  overhung. 
Her  breakfast  gown,  which  had  no  belt  and  was  fas- 
tened at  the  throat  by  a  single  button,  fell  in  thick 
folds,  and  muffled  her  so  clumsilv  that  she  looked  like 
a  milestone.  Bursting  with  health,  her  cheeks  were 
crimson  and   her  fingers  like  sausages.     This  woman 


240     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

suddenly  explained  to  Lucien  Vernon's  embarrassed 
manner  in  compan}'.  Sick  of  his  marriage,  not  evil 
enough  to  abandon  wife  and  children,  but  refined 
enough  to  suffer  from  them  always,  the  author  could 
not  forgive  the  success  of  others ;  he  was  dissatisfied 
with  all  things  because  so  dissatisfied  within.  Lucien 
understood  the  sour  expression  of  that  envious  face, 
the  acrid  repartees  on  tlie  journalist's  tongue,  the  bit- 
terness of  each  sentence  sharpened  and  polished  like  a 
stiletto. 

"Let  us  go  into  m}'  studjV'  said  Vernou,  rising; 
"you  have  come  to  talk  of  literarj'  matters,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"Yes  and  no,"  replied  Lousteau.  "In  the  first 
place,  old  man,  about  a  supper." 

"I  have  come,"  said  Lucien,  "to  invite  j'ou,  in 
Coralie's  name  —  " 

Madame  Vernou  looked  up. 

"  —  to  a  supper  this  da}' week,"  continued  Lucien. 
"  You  will  find  the  same  compan}'  we  had  at  Florine's, 
with  Madame  de  Val-Noble  and  Merlin  added,  and  a 
few  others.     We  shall  play." 

"  But,  my  friend,  that  is  the  day  we  are  engaged  to 
Madame  Mahoudeau,"  said  the  wife. 

"What  does  that  signify?"  said  Vernou. 

"If  we  don't  go  she  will  be  angry,  and  you  know 
she  is  very  useful  in  discounting  your  publishers' 
notes." 

"  My  dear  Lousteau,  here  's  a  woman  who  never  can 
be  made  to  understand  that  a  supper  which  begins  at 
midnight  does  n't  prevent  a  man  from  going  to  a  part}' 
which  is  over  by  eleven.     I  have  to  work  beside  her." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    241 

"But  yon  have  so  much  imagination  !  "  said  Lncien, 
—  a  speecli  which  made  Felicien  Yernou  his  mortal 
enem}'. 

"Well,"  said  Lousteaii,  "then  voii  can  come.  But 
that 's  not  all.  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  is  now  one  of 
us,  consequently  give  him  a  push  with  your  editor  ;  sa}' 
he  is  a  fellow  capable  of  the  upper  walks  of  literature, 
and  that  ought  to  get  him  two  articles  a  month  on  the 
paper." 

"Yes,  if  he  is  reall}'  one  of  us;  if  he  is  ready  to 
attack  our  enemies  as  we  attack  them,  and  defend  our 
friends,  I  '11  mention  him  to  the  editor  to-night  at  the 
Opera,"  replied  Vernou. 

"Ah!  ver^' kind,  my  dear  fellow!"  cried  Lousteau, 
pressing  Vernou's  hand  with  ever}'  appearance  of  the 
warmest  friendship.  "  When  is  3'our  book  coming 
out?" 

"That  depends  on  Dauriat,"  said  the  father  of  the 
famil}'.     ^'I  have  finished  it." 

' '  Are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Yes  and  no." 

"Well,  we'll  organize  a  success,"  said  Lousteau, 
rising  and  bowing  to  the  wife  of  his  co-journalist. 

This  sudden  departure  was  rendered  necessar}'  by 
the  squeals  of  the  children,  who  were  quarrelling  and 
fighting  with  their  spoons,  and  throwing  porridge  in 
each  other's  faces. 

"  You  have  just  seen,"  said  Etienne  when  they  had 
fairh'  escaped,  "  a  woman  who,  without  being  aware  of 
it,  is  making  actual  devastation  in  literature.  That 
poor  Vernou  cannot  forgive  the  world  for  his  wife. 
He  ought  to  be  relieved  of  her  for  the  good  of  the 

16 


242     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

public.  We  should  escape  a  deluge  of  infamous  ar- 
ticles,—  diatribes  against  our  successes  and  our  luck. 
What  won't  a  man  become  with  such  a  wife  and  those 
intolerable  brats  ?  Have  3'ou  seen  Rigaudin  in  Picard's 
play,  'The  Lottery  Shop'?  Well,  like  Rigaudin,  Ver- 
non never  fights  duels,  but  he  makes  others  fight  them. 
He  is  capable  of  putting  out  one  of  his  own  eyes  in 
order  to  put  out  both  eyes  of  his  best  friend.  You  '11 
see  him,  with  a  foot  on  the  fallen,  smiling  at  every- 
body's ill  luck  ;  attacking  princes,  dukes,  and  nobles 
because  his  own  birth  was  low ;  attacking  more  espe- 
cially the  fame  of  unmarried  men  because  of  his  wife ; 
but  always  preaching  morality,  pleading  for  domestic 
jo3^s  and  devotion  to  the  duties  of  the  citizen.  That 
highly  moral  critic  is  considerate  of  no  one,  not  even 
his  own  children.  He  lives  there  in  that  wretched 
place  with  a  wife  who  might  be  the  mamamouchi  of 
the  '  Bourgeois  gentilhomme '  and  two  little  Vernous 
as  ugly  as  toads,  and  he  writes  scoffing  articles  on  the 
faubourg  Saint-Germain,  where  he  can't  put  a  foot,  and 
makes  the  duchesses  talk  like  his  wife.  That's  the 
man  who  howls  at  the  Jesuits,  insults  the  court,  de- 
clares that  the  kino-  is  aiminsj  to  re-establish  feudal 
rights  and  primogeniture,  and  preaches  a  crusade  in 
favor  of  equalit}',  because  he  feels  he  is  not  on  an 
equality  with  any  one.  If  he  were  a  bachelor  he  would 
go  into  societ}' ;  he  would  take  the  style  of  the  royalist 
poets,  wear  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor,  and  be  an 
optimist.  Journalism  is  full  of  such  motives.  It  is  a 
great  catapult  put  in  motion  bv  little  hatreds.  How 
should  30U  like  to  be  married?  Vernou  has  no  heart 
left ;  it  is  gall  and  nothing  else.     He  is  a  specimen  of 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    243 

the  journalist  ^:>ar  excellence^  —  a  tiger  with  two  hands 
tearing  everything  to  bits,  as  if  his  pens  were  Hterall}' 
insane." 

"  He 's  a  destructive,"  said  Lucien.  ''What  talent 
has  he?  " 

"Wit;  he  is  what  3'ou  ma}*  call  an  article  writer. 
His  stock  in  trade  is  articles,  and  nothing  but  articles. 
Felicien  is  incapable  of  conceiving  a  work  as  a  whole, 
of  marshalling  forces,  and  leading  his  personages 
through  a  plot  which  begins,  tangles,  and  finally  ends 
in  some  climax.  He  has  ideas,  but  he  does  n't  know 
how  to  deal  with  facts  ;  his  heroes  are  either  philo- 
sophical or  liberal  Utopians  ;  his  st3-le  is  labored,  his 
inflated  sentences  collapse  if  a  critic  sticks  a  pin  into 
them.  For  that  reason  he  is  dreadfully  afraid  of  the 
newspapers,  like  all  those  who  need  the  puff  and  hum- 
bug of  praise  to  keep  them  floating." 

"You  are  talking  articles  3'our3elf,"  said  Lucien, 
laughing. 

"  Yes,  but  this  is  the  kind  we  think,  m}'  dear  fellow  ; 
we  don't  write  them." 

"Ah!  you  are  getting  to  be  editor-in-chief,"  said 
Lucien. 

"  Where  shall  I  set  you  down?  "  asked  Lousteau. 

"  At  Coralie's." 

"  Ha  !  so  we  are  in  love?  "  said  Lousteau.  "A  ofreat 
mistake !  Make  Coralie  what  I  make  Florine,  a  pro- 
vider, but  keep  foot-loose  yourself  and  take  3'our 
swing." 

"  You'd  damn  a  saint,"  said  Lucien,  laughing. 

"  Well.  3'ou  can't  damn  devils,"  replied  Lousteau. 

The  brilliant,  flippant  tone  of  his  new  friend,  the  way 


244     Great  Man  of  tlie  Provinces  in  Paris, 

in  which  he  looked  at  life,  mingling  paradox  with  the 
practical  maxims  of  a  Parisian  Machiavelli,  influenced 
Lucien  unconsciousl}'.  In  theory,  the  poet  saw  the 
danger  of  such  thoughts,  but  he  knew  them  to  be  use- 
ful in  practice.  When  the}'  reached  the  Boulevard  du 
Temple  the  two  friends  agreed  to  meet  again  between 
four  and  five  o'clock  at  the  newspaper  office,  where,  no 
doubt,  Hector  Merlin  would  appear. 

Lucien  was,  in  truth,  caught  b}'  the  pleasures  of  this 
love  of  courtesans  who  fasten  their  grapnels  to  all  the 
most  sensitive  regions  of  a  man's  nature ;  he  was 
thirsty  for  Parisian  enjoyments  ;  he  loved  the  opulent, 
magnificent,  easj'  life  the  actress  now  made  him  feel  was 
to  be  his  own  in  her  house.  He  found  her  with  Camu- 
sot,  both  wild  with  joy.  The  offer  of  an  engagement 
after  Easter  had  been  made  by  the  Gymnase,  the  con- 
ditions of  which,  succinctly  drawn  up,  much  surpassed 
their  hopes. 

"  We  owe  this  triumph  to  3'ou,"  said  Camusot  as 
Lucien  entered. 

' '  Yes,  indeed  !  "  cried  Coralie,  "  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
him  the  '  Alcalde '  would  have  fallen  flat.  Without 
that  article  I  should  have  staj-ed  on  the  Boulevards  for 
six  years." 

And  she  flung  her  arms  round  Lucien's  neck  in 
presence  of  Camusot.  The  eff'usion  of  her  action 
had  something  indescribabh^  soft  in  its  rapidity  and 
abandonment.  She  loved  !  Like  all  men  in  moments 
of  great  pain,  Camusot  lowered  his  ej'es  to  the  ground, 
and  as  he  did  so  he  noticed  on  the  seam  of  Lucien's 
boots  the  thread  of  color  used  by  the  best  bootmakers, 
—  a  dark  yellow,  shining  against  the  polished  black  of 


Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    245 

the  leather.  The  peculiar  color  of  this  thread  had  caught 
his  attention  during  his  monologue  on  the  inexplicable 
appearance  of  boots  in  front  of  Coralie's  fireplace.  He 
had  read  in  black  letters  printed  on  the  white  kid  lining 
the  name  of  a  famous  bootmaker  of  the  period,  —  Gaj, 
rue  de  la  Michodiere. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said  to  Lucien,  "  3'our  boots  are 
ver}'  handsome." 

''  Everything  is  handsome  about  him,"  said  Coralie. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  employ  your  bootmaker,"  con- 
tinued Camusot. 

"•  Oh!  "  said  Coralie,  "  how  vulgar  it  is  to  ask  the 
addresses  of  a  man's  trades-people  !  Are  3'ou  going 
to  wear  3'oung  men's  boots  and  make  3'ourself  a  dand3'? 
NO;  no,  keep  to  your  own  st3'le,  which  suits  a  stead3' 
man  with  a  wife  and  children  and  a  mistress." 

"  Still,  if  monsieur  would  be  good  enough  to  take  off 
one  of  his  boots  he  would  do  me  a  service,"  said  Camu- 
sot, obstinatel3'. 

"  I  could  not  put  it  on  again  without  a  button-hook," 
said  Lucien,  flushing. 

"Berenice  can  fetch  one  ;  there  are  plent3'  here,"  said 
Camusot,  with  jeering  eves. 

"  Papa  Camusot,"  said  Coralie,  giving  him  a  glance 
of  the  bitterest  contempt;  "  have  the  courage  of  3-our 
suspicions.  Come,  say  all  3'ou  think.  Monsieur's  boots 
are  just  like  mine,  are  not  the3'?  —  I  forbid  3'Ou  to  take 
off  your  boots,"  she  said  to  Lucien.  ''  Yes,  Monsieur 
Camusot,  3'es,  those  boots  are  precisel3"  those  which 
3'ou  saw  before  m3'  fire  the  other  da3'  and  Monsieur  de 
Rubempre  was  hidden  in  m3'  dressing-room  and  waiting 
for  them,  having  passed  the  night  here.     That 's  what 


246     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

3^011  're  thinking,  lie}'  ?     Well,  think  it !     It  is  the  truth 
I  have  deceived  you.    What  of  that?    I  choose  to  do  so." 

She  sat  down  without  anger  or  embarrassment  and 
looked  at  Camusot  and  Lucien,  who  dared  not  look  at 
each  other. 

"  I  do  not  believe  what  you  tell  me  to  believe,"  said 
Camusot  at  last.  ''  Do  not  jest ;  I  was  wrong  to  be  so 
suspicious." 

"  Either  I  am  an  infamous  strumpet  who  has  taken  a 
momentary  fancy  to  monsieur,  or  I  am  a  poor  miser- 
able creature  who  feels,  for  the  first  time,  the  true  love 
every  woman  longs  for.  In  either  case  you  must  leave 
me,  or  take  me  as  I  am,"  she  said,  with  a  masterful 
gesture  which  crushed  the  old  man. 

''Is  it  true?  "  said  Camusot,  who  saw  b}'  their  faces 
that  neither  Lucien  nor  Coralie  felt  it  was  a  joke,  and 
who  longed  to  be  deceived. 

''  I  love  mademoiselle,"  said  Lucien. 

Hearing  those  words  said  with  emotion,  Coralie 
again  flung  her  arms  round  her  poet's  neck,  pressed 
him  to  her  heart,  and  turned  to  Camusot  as  if  to  call 
his  attention  to  her  attitude. 

"  Poor  Musot !  "  she  said  ;  ''  take  back  what  you  have 
given  me.  I  want  nothing  more  from  vou.  I  love  this 
one  madl}',  —  not  for  his  mind  but  for  his  beaut3\  I 
prefer  poverty  w^ith  him  to  millions  with  3'ou." 

Camusot  fell  into  an  armchair,  put  his  head  in  his 
hands,  and  was  silent. 

"  Shall  we  go  awa}'?"  she  asked  fiercel3\ 

Cold  chills  ran  down  Lucien's  back  as  he  saw  him- 
self saddled  with  a  woman,  an  actress,  a  household. 

"  Stay  here  and  keep  all,  Coralie,"  said  Camusot  in 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris.     247 

a  trembling,  sorrowful  voice,  which  came  from  his  soul. 
"I  do  not  wish  to  take  anything  back,  though  there 
is  over  sixt}'  thousand  francs'  worth  of  furniture  in  these 
rooms ;  but  no,  I  could  never  bear  the  thought  of 
m}'  Coralie  in  povert}'.  Whatever  monsieur's  talents 
may  be  he  cannot  support  you.  Ah  !  this  is  what  we 
old  men  must  expect !  Coralie,  leave  me  the  right  to 
come  and  see  you  sometimes  ;  I  ma}'  be  useful  to  3'ou. 
Beside,  it  will  be  impossible  to  live  without  you." 

The  gentleness  of  the  unfortunate  man,  dispossessed 
of  all  at  the  very  moment  he  felt  himself  most  happ}^ 
touched  Lucien  keenly-,  but  not  Coralie. 

"Yes,  come  as  often  as  3'Ou  like,  m}'  poor  Musot," 
she  said.  "  I  shall  lovej'ou  all  the  more  if  I  don't  de- 
ceive 3'ou." 

Camusot  seemed  satisfied  in  not  being  driven  from 
his  terrestrial  paradise,  where,  no  doubt,  he  was  now 
to  suffer  much ;  but  alreadv  he  looked  forward  to  a  re- 
turn  into  all  his  rights,  relying  on  the  chances  of  Pari- 
sian life  and  the  seductions  it  would  offer  to  Lucien. 
The  shrewd  old  merchant  felt  that  sooner  or  later  so 
handsome  a  youth  would  allow  himself  infidelities,  and 
he  resolved  to  remain  on  good  terms  with  the  pair  in 
order  to  watch  Lucien  and  help  to  destro}'  him  in 
Coralie's  estimation.  Such  baseness  of  passion  alarmed 
Lucien.  Camusot  invited  them  to  dinner  at  Very's  in 
the  Palais-Royal  and  the}'  accepted. 

"Oh,  what  happiness!"  cried  Coralie  as  soon  as 
Camusot  had  departed.  "  No  more  garret  in  the  quar- 
tier  Latin  ;  you  '11  live  here  with  me  ;  we  shall  never  be 
parted.  To  save  appearances,  you  can  take  a  room  m 
the  rue  Chariot,  and  '  vogue  la  galere  ! '  " 


248     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

She  began  to  dance  her  Spanish  fandango  with  a  vim 
which  showed  the  ardor  of  her  passion. 

"  I  can  earn  five  hundred  francs  a  month  by  working 
hard,"  said  Lucien. 

"  And  I  get  as  much  as  that  at  the  Panorama,  with- 
out counting  extras.  Camusot  will  always  pa}^  for  my 
clothes,  he  is  so  fond  of  me.  With  fifteen  hundred 
francs  a  month  we  shall  live  like  Croesuses." 

"  But  the  horses  and  carriage,  and  the  coachman?  " 
said  Berenice. 

"  Oh,  I '11  run  in  debt,"  cried  Coralie  ;  and  she  be- 
gan to  dance  a  jig  with  Lucien. 

''Well,  I  shall  have  to  accept  Finot's  proposals," 
said  Lucien. 

''  Ver}'  good,"  replied  Coralie.  "  I  '11  dress,  and  drive 
you  to  the  office,  and  wait  in  the  carriage  for  you  on 
the  boulevard." 

Lucien  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  watched  the  actress  as 
she  dressed  herself,  and  gave  himself  up  to  serious  re- 
flections. He  would  much  rather  have  given  up  Coralie 
than  be  saddled  with  the  obligations  of  such  a  mar 
riage  ;  but  as  he  looked  at  her,  so  handsome,  so  well- 
made,  so  attractive,  he  was  carried  awa}'  b}'  the 
picturesque  aspects  of  this  bohemian  life  and  cast  his 
glove  in  the  face  of  Fortune.  Berenice  was  ordered  to 
see  to  the  removal  of  all  his  things  from  the  rue  de 
Clun}' ;  and  then  the  triumphant  and  happ3'  Coralie 
carried  off"  her  beloved  poet  and  drove  across  all  Paris 
to  the  rue  Saint-Fiacre.  Lucien  climbed  the  staircase 
and  entered  with  authority  the  ding}'  office  in  which  he 
had  so  latel}'  stood  as  a  petitioner.  Coloquinte  was  still 
staggering  under  the  weight  of  the  stamped  paper,  and 


Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    249 

old  Giroucleau  again  began  to  tell  him  hypocritically 
that  no  one  had  3'et  come. 

"  But  the  editors  must  be  somewhere  to  do  the  work 
of  the  paper,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Probably,  but  the  editing  is  none  of  my  business," 
said  the  late  captain  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  resuming 
the  verification  of  his  vouchers  with  his  everlasting 
"  Broum  —  broum." 

Just  then,  as  luck,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  would 
have  it,  Finot  came  in  to  tell  Giroudeau  of  his  pre- 
tended abdication  as  editor-in-chief,  and  to  caution  him 
to  watch  over  his  interests  just  the  same. 

"  No  diplomac}^  with  monsieur,  he  is  on  the  paper," 
said  Finot  to  his  uncle,  taking  Lucien's  hand  and  shaking 
it  cordiall3\ 

"  Ha  !  monsieur  is  on  the  paper,  is  he?  "  cried  Girou- 
deau, surprised  at  his  nephew's  friendliness.  "  Well, 
monsieur,  you  had  n't  much  trouble  in  getting  there." 

"  I  want  to  see  that  you  get  your  rights,  and  prevent 
3'our  being  fooled  b}^  Lousteau,"  said  Finot,  giving 
Lucien  a  knowing  look.  "  Monsieur  is  to  have  three 
francs  a  column,"  he  continued,  addressing  his  uncle, 
"  for  ever^^thing  he  brings  in,  including  his  theatre 
reports." 

"  You  never  gave  such  terms  to  an}'  one  before," 
said  Giroudeau,  looking  at  Lucien  with  an  air  of 
astonishment. 

"He  is  to  have  the  four  Boulevard  theatres,  and 
3'ou  '11  see  that  his  boxes  are  not  Jilched,  and  that  his 
tickets  are  punctuall}' given  to  him.  I  advise  3'ou,  how- 
ever, to  have  them  sent  to  your  own  house,"  he  added, 
turnins:  to  Lucien.     "  Monsieur  agrees  to  do,  outside  of 


250     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

his  critical  work,  ten  variet}^  articles  of  about  two 
columns  for  fift}^  francs  a  month  for  one  year.  Does 
that  suit  3'ou  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  said  Lucien,  now  forced  by  circumstances  to 
accept  all  terms. 

"Uncle,"  said  Finot  to  the  cashier,  "write  out  a 
memorandum  of  this  agreement,  and  we  '11  sign  it  as  we 
come  downstairs." 

"  Who  is  the  gentleman  ?  "  asked  Giroudeau,  rising 
and  pulhng  off  his  black  silk  cap. 

"  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  writer  of  the  ar- 
ticle on  the  '  Alcalde,'  "  said  Finot. 

'^  Young  man,"  cried  the  old  soldier,  tapping  Lucien's 
forehead,  "  3'ou  've  a  mine  of  gold  there.  I  'm  not 
literary,  but  I've  read  3'our  article  with  pleasure.  I 
said  at  once.  '  Ha,  ha  !  there  's  gayety  for  you  !  That 
will  bring  us  subscribers  !  '  and  I  was  right ;  fifty  came 
in  that  da3^" 

"  Is  my  agreement  with  Etienne  Lousteau  copied  in 
duplicate  and  read}'  for  signature  ?  "  asked  Finot. 

"  Yes,"  said  Giroudeau. 

"Then  date  the  one  I  now  make  with  Monsieur  de 
Rubempre  yesterday,  so  that  Lousteau  will  be  held  un- 
der both."  Finot  took  the  arm  of  his  new  associate 
with  an  air  of  comradeship  which  completel}'  beguiled 
the  poet,  and  led  him  up  the  staircase,  sa3lng :  "  Now, 
3'our  position  is  defined.  I  '11  present  you  myself  to  my 
editorial  staff.  To-niojlit  Lousteau  shall  introduce  vou 
at  the  different  theatres.  You  can  earn  a  hundred  and 
fifty  francs  a  month  on  the  little  paper  Lousteau  now 
edits ;  so  I  advise  3'ou  to  keep  well  with  him.  The 
rascal  won't  like  it  that  I  have  tied  his  hands  in  regard 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     251 

to  you,  but  you  've  got  talent,  and  1  don't  want  you  to 
be  at  the  mercy  of  his  caprices.  Between  ourselves, 
3'ou  may  bring  me  two  sheets  a  month  for  m}"  weekly 
paper,  and  I  '11  pay  you  two  hundred  francs  for  them. 
Don't  speak  of  this  arrangement  to  an}^  one  ;  I  should 
be  made  the  victim  of  a  hundred  vanities  wounded  b}' 
3'our  advent.  Make  four  articles  of  vour  two  sheets  ; 
sign  two  with  3'our  own  name,  and  two  with  a  pseudon3^ra, 
so  as  not  to  seem  to  take  the  bread  out  of  other  people's 
mouths.  You  owe3'our  position  to  Blondct  and  Vignon, 
who  think  3'ou  have  a  future.  Therefore  don't  spoil 
3'our  prospects.  Above  al],  distrust  your  friends.  Serve 
me  well,  and  I  will  serve  30U.  You  will  have  forty 
francs'  worth  of  boxes  and  tickets  to  sell,  and  sixty 
francs'  worth  of  books  to  realize.  That  and  tlie  paper 
will  give  vou  four  hundred  and  fiftv  a  month.  With 
3'Our  capacit3'  3'ou  can  easih'  get  two  hundred  more  from 
publishers,  who  will  gladly  pa3-  for  articles  and  prospec- 
tuses. But  3'ou  belong  to  me,  remember  that.  I  shall 
rel3^  on  you." 

Lucien  pressed  Finot's  hand  in  a  transport  of  jo3\ 
"  We  had  better  not  seem  to  be  intimate,"  said  Finot, 
as  the3"  reached  the  door  of  a  garret  room  at  the  end  of 
a  long  passage  on  the  fifth  floor  of  the  house. 

Lucien  now  saw  Lousteau,  Felicien  Vernou,  Hector 
Merlin,  and  two  others  whom  he  did  not  know,  sitting 
round  a  table  covered  with  green  cloth  before  a  good 
fire,  smoking  and  laughing.  The  table  was  heaped  with 
papers,  an  inkstand  was  there  for  use  full  of  ink,  and  sev- 
eral rather  bad  pens,  which  the  writers  used  neverthe- 
less. It  dawned  on  the  new  journalist's  mind  that  here 
was  the  place  w^here  the  new^spaper  was  fabricated. 


252     Great  Man  of  tJie  Provinces  in  Paris, 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Finot,  "  the  object  of  this  meet- 
ing is  to  install  our  dear  Lousteau  in  m}^  place  as  editor- 
in-chief,  a  place  I  am  obliged  to  give  up.  But  though 
my  outward  opinions  must  undergo  a  transformation  in 
order  to  become  editor-in-chief  of  the  weekly  journal, 
the  principles  of  which  are  known  to  3'ou,  j^et  m}^  con- 
victions are  the  same,  and  we  shall  alwaj's  remain 
friends.  I  am  wholl}'  yours,  as  3'ou  are  wholly  mine. 
Circumstances  var}',  principles  are  fixed.  Principles 
are  the  pivot  on  which  revolve  the  hands  of  the  poli- 
tical barometer." 

The  staff  roared  with  laughter. 

"  Who  taught  3'ou  that  sentence?  "  asked  Lousteau. 

"  Blondet,"  replied  Finot. 

"  Wind,  rain,  tempest,  set  fair,"  said  Merlin  ;  "we  '11 
go  through  them  all  together." 

"  Well,"  said  Finot,  "  there's  no  need  to  flounder  in 
metaphor.  All  those  who  have  articles  to  bring  me 
will  find  Finot.  Monsieur  here,"  he  added,  presenting 
Lucien,  "is  one  of  you.  I  have  made  an  agreement 
with  him,  Lousteau." 

Every  one  present  complimented  Finot  on  his  rise 
and  prospects. 

"Here  3'ou  are  astride  of  us  all  and  of  others,"  said 
one  of  the  two  men  unknown  to  Lucien.  "You'll  be 
Janus." 

"  Not  Janot,  I  hope,"  said  Vernou. 

"You'll  let  us  stab  our  hUes-noiresf^^ 

"  As  much  as  3'ou  like,"  said  Finot. 

"Ah!  b3^  the  bye,"  said  Lousteau,  "Monsieur  Cha- 
telet  is  savasje.    We  mustn't  let  him  off  for  a  week." 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  asked  Lucien. 


Great  Ma7i  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris,    253 

"He  came  here  and  demanded  satisfaction,"  replied 
Vernou.  "  Tlie  ex-imperial  beau  fell  into  the  hands  of 
old  GiroudeaUj  who,  with  superior  coolness,  pointed  out 
Philippe  Bridau  as  the  writer  of  the  article.  Philippe 
told  the  baron  to  name  time  and  weapons,  and  there 
the  matter  rested.  We  are  now  engaged  in  composing 
excuses  to  the  baron  for  to-morrow's  issue.  Every  sen- 
tence is  a  stab." 

''Bite  him  hard,  and  he'll  come  and  see  me,"  said 
Finot.  "  I  '11  then  do  him  a  service  by  softening  you 
off.  He  is  on  terms  with  the  government,  and  we  may 
hook  something  there,  —  a  sub-professorship  or  a  to- 
bacco license.  We  are  lucky  to  have  touched  him  on 
the  raw.  Which  of  you  will  write  me  a  solid  article  on 
Nathan  for  my  new  paper?  " 

"Give  it  to  Lucien,"  said  Lousteau.  ''Hector  and 
Vernou  can  do  others  in  their  respective  journals." 

"Adieu,  gentlemen!  We  shall  meet  again  at  Bar- 
bin's,"  said  Finot,  laughing. 

Lucien  received  man}"  compliments  on  his  admission 
into  the  formidable  ranks  of  journalism,  and  Lousteau 
assured  those  present  that  he  was  a  man  on  whom  they 
might  depend. 

"Lucien  invites  you  en  masse,^'  he  said,  "to  sup 
with  his  mistress,  Coralie." 

"  Coralie  has  an  engagement  at  the  Gymnase,"  said 
Lucien. 

"Good!  Then  it  is  understood,  gentlemen,  that 
we  shall  all  push  Coralie,  hey?  Put  a  few  lines  about 
her  in  your  different  papers,  and  speak  of  her  talent ; 
say  the  managers  of  the  Gymnase  have  shown  tact  and 
judgment,  —  will  it  do  to  say  they  ai'e  intelligent?" 


254     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"Yes,  say  intelligent,"  said  Merlin.  "Frederic  has 
a  play  with  Scribe  there." 

"  Ver}'  good  !  Then  the  manager  of  the  Gj'mnase  is 
the  most  intelligent,  perspicacious,  and  far-seeing  of 
directors,"  said  Vernon. 

"  Look  here,  don't  write  3'our  articles  about  Nathan 
until  we  have  agreed  on  what  is  to  be  said.  I'll  tell 
you  why,"  said  Lousteau,  hastil}'.  "We  must  be  use- 
ful to  our  new  comrade.  He  has  two  books  to  pul)- 
lish,  —  a  novel,  and  a  volume  of  sonnets.  By  dint  of 
reviews,  he  ought  to  be  a  great  poet  in  three  months' 
time.  Let  us  use  his  sonnets  (he  calls  them  'Daisies') 
to  smash  the  Odes,  Ballads,  Meditations,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  romantic  poems." 

"  It  would  be  queer,  though,  if  the  sonnets  were  poor 
stuff,"  said  Vernon.  "  What  do  you  think  of  3'our 
sonnets,  Lucien?" 

"Yes,  what  do  3'ou  really  think  of  them?"  said  one 
of  the  writers  whom  Lucien  did  not  know. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Lousteau,  "  they  are  good,  —  on 
my  word  of  honor." 

"  Then  I'm  satisfied,"  said  Vernon.  "  I'll  be  only 
too  glad  to  trip  up  those  sacrist}'  poets  ;  they  bore  me 
to  death." 

"  Well,  if  Dauriat  refuses  the  '  Daisies,'  we  '11  all  hit 
him  with  article  after  article  against  Nathan." 

"  But  how  will  Nathan  like  that?  "  asked  Lucien. 

The  five  journalists  burst  out  laughing. 

"  He  will  be  delighted,"  said  Vernou.  "  You'll  soon 
see  how  we  manage  matters." 

"  So  monsieur  is  really  one  of  us?"  remarked  the 
second  journalist  whom  Lucien  did  not  know. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    255 

"Yes,  5'es,  Frederic;  come,  no  pranks!  You  see, 
Liicien,"  said  Etienne  to  tlie  new  recruit,  "  how  frankly 
we  treat  you,  and  you  are  not  to  shrink  back  when 
occasion  comes.  AVe  all  love  Nathan,  but  we  are  goino- 
to  attack  him  ;  3'ou  '11  understand  it  all  before  long. 
Now,  let's  divide  up  the  theatres.  Frederic,  do  you 
want  the  Frangais  and  the  Odeon?  " 

"  If  these  gentlemen  consent,"  replied  Fre'deric. 

The}^  all  nodded  ;  but  Lucien  saw  the  envy  in  their 
ej'es. 

"I  keep  the  Opera,  les  Italiens  and  the  Opera- 
Comique,"  said  Vernou. 

"  Very  good !  and  Hector  takes  the  vaudeville  the- 
atres," said  Lousteau. 

"And  I,  am  I  to  have  none?"  said  the  other  man 
whom  Lucien  did  not  know. 

"Hector  will  let  you  have  the  Varie'te's,  and  Lucien 
tJie  Porte-Saint-Martin,"  replied  Etienne.  "  Give  him 
the  Porte-Saint-Martin,  Lucien ;  he  is  crazy  about 
Fanny  Beaupre  ;  and  you  can  take  the  Cirque- 
Olympique  in  exchange.  As  for  me,  I  have  Bobino, 
the  Funambules,  and  Madame  Saqui.  What  is  ready 
for  to-morrow's  issue  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing!" 

"Nothing." 

"  Gentlemen,  3-ou  must  be  brilliant  for  my  first  num- 
ber. You  must  devise  something.  The  Baron  du 
Chatelet  and  his  cuttlefish  can't  last  much  longer ;  the 
author  of  '  The  Solitary  '  is  worn  to  rags." 

"  The  fact  is,  we  want  more  victims,"  said  Frederic. 

"  Suppose  we  take  the  virtuous  men  of  the  Right," 


256       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

cried  Loustean  ;  "  it  is  easy  enough  to  turn  them  into 
ridicule." 

"  Let  us  begin  with  a  series  of  portraits  of  the  min- 
isterial orators,"  said  Hector  Merlin. 

"  Do  it  3'ourself,"  said  Lousteau  ;  "  3'ou  know  them  ; 
the}^  belong  to  your  side,  and  you  can  satisfy  some 
intestine  hatreds.  Stick  your  claws  into  Beugnot, 
S3'rieys  de  Mayrinhac,  and  others.  The  articles  may 
as  well  be  ready  in  advance ;  we  sha'n't  be  so  har- 
rassed  at  the  last  moment." 

"•  We  might  invent  a  few  cases  of  refusals  to  bur}', 
with  more  or  less  aggravating  circumstances,"  said 
Merhn. 

"No,  don't  let  us  tread  in  the  tracks  of  the  great 
constitutional  papers ;  they  have  their  church  pigeon- 
holes full  of  canards.^'' 

"  Canards?  "  said  Lucien. 

"  We  call  a  fact  that  seems  true,  but  is  invented  for 
an  item  when  times  are  dull,  a  canard,'''  said  Hector. 
''  The  canard  was  a  discover^'  of  Benjamin  Franklin, 
the  man  who  invented  lightning-rods,  canards,  and  re- 
publics. That  journalist  hoaxed  the  Encyclopedists  so 
famously  that  Raynal,  in  his  '  Philosophical  History  of 
the  West  Indies,'  mentions  two  of  his  canards  as  au- 
thentic facts." 

"  I  never  heard  of  that,"  said  Vernou.  "What  were 
they?" 

"  The  story  of  the  Englishman  who  sold  a  negress 
who  had  saved  his  life,  after  making  her  a  mother  to 
increase  her  value ;  and  the  noble  pleading  of  the  girl 
by  which  she  won  her  cause.  When  Franklin  came  to 
Paris   he   acknowledged   these    canards  to   Monsieur 


Great  Man  of  the  Provijices  in  Paris.    257 

Necker,  to  the  great  confusion  of  the  French  philoso- 
phers, —  that 's  how  the  new  world  has  twice  corrupted 
the  old.'' 

^'  Newspapers  regard  all  things  as  true  which  are  in 
any  way  probable/'  said  Lousteau ;  "that's  our  start- 
ing-point." 

"  Criminal  justice  does  the  same,"  said  Vernou. 

"Well,  adieu  till  to-night,  at  nine  o'clock,  here," 
said  Merlin. 

They  all  rose,  shook  hands,  and  the  session  ended 
with  ever}'  sign  of  the  most  friendly  regard. 

' '  What  did  3'ou  sa}'  or  do  to  Finot  to  make  him  have 
an  agreement  with  you  himself, "'  said  Etienne  to  Lucien 
as  they  went  downstairs.  ''  You  are  the  only  one  he 
has  bound  to  him  in  that  waj'." 

"I?  nothing  ;  he  proposed  it,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Well,  have  any  arrangements  with  him  you  like,  I 
am  willing  ;  we  shall  only  be  the  stronger,  you  and  I." 

On  the  ground-floor  the}'  encountered  Finot,  who  took 
Lousteau  aside  into  the  inner  office. 

"  Sign  the  agreement  now  so  that  the  new  editor 
may  think  it  was  done  yesterday,"  said  Giroudeau, 
presenting  to  the  new  journalist  a  stamped  paper. 

As  Lucien  read  over  the  agreement  he  heard  a  rather 
sharp  discussion  going  on  between  Etienne  and  Finot 
as  to  the  proceeds  of  the  journal.  Etienne  wanted  his 
full  share  of  the  percentages  imposed  by  Finot.  There 
must  have  been  a  satisfactory  compromise,  however, 
for  they  both  came  out  soon  after  on  cordial  terms. 

"  Meet  me  at  eight  o'clock,  Galeries  de  Bois,  at 
Dauriat's,"  said  Etienne  to  Lucien  as  they  parted. 

A  young  man  had  meantime  come  in  with  the  timid, 

17 


258     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

anxious  air  Lucien  himself  had  worn  in  that  office  but 
a  short  while  ago.  The  fledged  journalist  now  felt  a 
secret  pleasure  in  observing  how  Giroudeau  practised 
the  same  little  tricks  on  the  new-comer  with  which  the 
old  campaigner  had  fooled  him  ;  his  new  interests  made 
him  thoroughly  understand  the  necessity  of  this  per- 
formance, which  placed  an  insurmountable  barrier  be- 
tween all  new-comers  and  the  garret  of  the  elect. 

"There  is  not  mone}-  enough  as  it  is  to  pay  all  the 
writers,"  he  remarked  to  Giroudeau. 

"  And  if  there  were  more  of  you,  there  would  be  still 
less  for  each,"  replied  the  veteran  ;   "  and  what  then?  " 

The  old  soldier  twirled  his  loaded  cane  and  marched 
off,  clearing  his  throat,  "  Broum — broum,"  and  seeming 
not  a  little  astonished  when  he  saw  Lucien  jump  into 
the  elegant  equipage  which  was  waiting  for  him  at  the 
corner  of  the  boulevard. 

"You  are  the  military  in  these  days,  we  are  the 
civilians,"  he  said  to  him. 

"  I  declare  to  3'ou,"  said  Lucien  to  Coralie,  "  those 
vouns:  men  seem  to  me  the  best  fellows  in  the  world. 
Here  I  am,  a  journalist,  with  the  certainty  of  earning 
six  liundred  francs  a  month  if  I  work  like  a  horse  ;  but 
I  shall  sell  m}^  two  books  and  write  others,  and  these 
friends  are  going  to  organize  me  a  success  !  So  I  say 
with  you,  Coralie,  vogue  la  galere  !  " 

"  You  '11  succeed,  my  own  ;  but  don't  be  as  good  and 
kind  as  3'ou  are  handsome,  or  3'ou  '11  come  to  grief. 
Be  bad  with  men  ;  that 's  the  best  wa}." 

Coralie  and  Lucien  went  to  drive  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  where  they  again  met  the  Marquise  d'Espard, 
Madame   de   Barge  ton,    and   the   Baron   du   Chatelet. 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     259 

Madame  de  Bargeton  looked  at  Lucien  with  a  courteous 
air  which  might  have  passed  for  a  bow. 

Camusot  had  ordered  the  best  of  dinners  at  Very's. 
CoraUe,  knowing  that  she  was  rid  of  him,  was  so  charm- 
ing to  the  poor  shopkeeper  that  he  could  not  remem- 
ber when  he  had  ever  seen  her,  during  the  fourteen 
months  of  their  connection,  so  gracious  and  so 
attractive. 

"Yes,  3'es,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I'll  stay  by  her 
aiiyhoic.^^ 

He  offered  her  secretly  an  investment  in  the  Funds 
to  the  amount  of  six  thousand  francs  a  year  if  she 
would  consent  to  remain  his  mistress,  agreeing  to  shut 
his  eyes  to  her  relations  with  Lucien. 

"  Betra}'  that  angel !  wh}^  look  at  him,  you  poor  old 
fellow,  and  think  what  you  are !  "  cried  Coralie,  mo- 
tioning towards  the  poet,  whom  Camusot  had  persuaded 
to  drink  till  he  was  slightly  light-headed. 

Camusot  looked,  and  resolved  to  await  the  moment 
when  povert}'  would  again  give  him  the  woman  it  had 
once  before  delivered  to  him. 

"  I  will  be  your  friend  only,"  he  said,  kissing  her 
forehead. 


260     Great  Mmi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


XVI. 

RE  DAURIAT. 

LuciEN  left  Coralie  and  Camusot  to  go  to  the  Gal- 
eries  de  Bois.  What  a  change  his  initiation  into  the 
mysteries  of  journalism  had  produced  in  his  mind !  He 
now  mingled  without  timidity  among  the  crowd  that 
was  flowing  through  the  galleries  ;  he  assumed  a  look 
of  insolence  because  he  had  a  mistress,  and  he  entered 
Dauriat's  shop  with  a  free  and  easy  air  because  he  was 
a  journalist.  There  he  found  a  distinguished  companj' . 
He  offered  his  hand  to  Blondet,  Nathan,  Finot,  in  fact 
to  all  the  men  of  literature  with  whom  he  had  frater- 
nized for  the  last  week  ;  he  thought  himself  a  person- 
age, and  hugged  the  belief  that  he  was  able  to  surpass 
his  comrades  ;  the  slight  exhilaration  of  the  wine  he  had 
taken  helped  him  wonderfully ;  he  was  witty  and  bril- 
liant, and  showed  that  he  could  swim  with  the  current. 

Nevertheless,  Lucien  did  not  gather  in  all  the  spoken 
or  unspoken  approbation  on  which  he  counted.  He 
observed  signs  of  jealousy  among  these  men,  —  less  un- 
easy, perhaps,  than  curious  to  know  what  exact  place 
this  newly  imported  talent  would  hold,  and  how  large  a 
share  of  the  profits  of  the  press  it  would  swallow  up. 
Finot,  who  thought  Lucien  a  mine  to  work,  and  Lou- 
steau,  who  considered  he  had  rights  over  him,  were  the 
only  ones  who  cordially  smiled  upon  the  poet. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       261 

Lousteau,  having  already  assumed  the  bearing  of  an 
editor-in-chief,  rapped  sharply  on  the  glass  partition 
between  the  wareroora  and  the  office. 

"  In  a  moment,  my  friend,"  answered  the  publisher, 
putting  his  head  over  the  green  curtains  and  recognizing 
the  new  editor. 

The  moment  lasted  an  hour,  after  which  Lucien  and 
his  friend  were  admitted  to  the  sanctuary. 

''  Well,  have  you  thought  about  our  friend's  poems?  " 
said  Lousteau. 

"Of  course  I  have,"  replied  Dauriat,  leaning  majes- 
ticallv  back  in  his  armchair.  "  I  have  looked  them 
over,  and  I  made  a  man  of  great  taste,  a  good  judge, 
read  them,  for  I  myself  do  not  pretend  to  understand 
poetry.  My  good  friend,  I  buy  fame  ready-made,  as 
the  Englishman  buys  love.  You  are  as  great  a  poet  as 
you  are  handsome.  On  the  word  of  an  honest  man,  — 
remark,  I  don't  say  on  the  word  of  a  publisher,  —  your 
sonnets  are  mao;nificent :  thev  are  not  labored,  which  is 
rare  when  a  writer  has  imagination  and  fanc}'  both. 
Moreover,  you  know  how  to  rhyme,  one  of  the  gifts  of 
the  new  school.  Your  '  Daisies,'  are  a  fine  collection  ; 
but  the  matter  would  be  a  small  one  for  me  ;  I  have  time 
for  none  but  great  enterprises.  My  conscience  won't 
let  me  publish  3'our  sonnets,  for  I  could  not  do  them 
justice  ;  there  is  not  mone}'  enough  in  them  to  pa}^  the 
costs  of  a  great  success.  Besides,  3'ou  won't  keep  to 
poetry  ;  the  book,  in  an}'  case,  would  be  an  isolated 
one.  You  are  3'oung,  3'oung  man  !  you  have  brought 
me  the  everlasting  collection  of  first  verses  such  as  all 
men  of  letters  write  when  the3'  leave  college  ;  they  all 
think  an  immense  deal  of  their  poems  then,  and  laugh 


262       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  i7i  Paris. 

at  them  afterwards.  Your  friend  Lousteaii  must  have 
plenty  of  his  early  poems  put  away  among  his  old  socks. 
Have  n't  you  some  3'ou  once  believed  in,  Lousteau?" 
asked  Dauriat,  with  a  si}'  look  at  Etienne. 

"If  not,  how  could  I  write  prose?"  replied  the 
editor. 

"  Well,  3'ou  see  it  is  so,  though  he  never  mentioned 
it  to  me ;  but  he  knows  the  difficulties  of  publishing. 
For  me,"  he  went  on  in  a  flattering  tone,  "  the  question 
is  not  whether  these  sonnets  show  poetic  talent ;  3'ou 
have  merit,  and  a  great  deal  of  merit ;  if  I  were  begin- 
ning my  career  as  a  publisher  I  should  doubtless  commit 
the  mistake  of  publishing  3'ou.  But  I  now  know  better  ; 
I  have  sleeping-partners  and  associates  who  would  not 
hear  of  it ;  I  lost  more  than  twenty  thousand  francs 
last  3'ear  on  poems,  and  the}^  would  n't  listen  to  m3' 
printing  any  more.  But  the  real  question  to  m3'  mind 
is  not  that.  I  admit  that  you  are  a  true  poet,  but  will 
3'OU  be  a  prolific  one  ;  will  3'ou  hatch  out  sonnets  regu- 
larly? Can  I  have  ten  volumes;  will  3'OU  make  it  an 
enterprise?  Of  course  not;  you  are  a  delightful  prose- 
writer  ;  3'OU  have  too  much  sense  to  spoil  3'our  prose 
style  with  verse ;  3'ou  will  soon  be  earning  thirt3^  thou- 
sand francs  a  year  in  journalism,  and  3'ou  would  n't  be 
such  a  fool  as  to  barter  that  for  the  three  thousand 
francs  that  you  will  scarceh'  make  anyhow  out  of  your 
strophes  and  cantos  and  dithyrambs  —  " 

"  You  know,  Dauriat,  that  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  is 
now  on  the  paper,"  said  Lousteau. 

"Yes,"  answered  Dauriat.  "I've  read  his  article; 
and  it  is  for  his  own  sake  that  I  refuse  to  publish  his 
'Daisies.'     Yes,    monsieur,    I     shall   give  you     more 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris.    263 

mone}'  during  the  next  six  months  for  the  articles  I  shall 
ask  vou  to  write  for  me  than  vou  could  ever  earn  by 
unsalable  poems." 

''  But  fame?  "  cried  Lucien. 

Dauriat  and  Lousteau  laughed. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  said  Lousteau,  "  he  still  keeps  to 
illusions  ! " 

"  Fame,'*  replied  Dauriat,  "  means  ten  3'ears  of  per- 
sistent toil  and  waiting  with  an  equal  chance  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  loss  or  gain  to  the  publisher.  If 
you  find  fools  who  are  willing  to  print  your  poems  you 
will  respect  me  a  year  from  now,  when  3'ou  have  seen 
what  the  result  will  be." 

"Have  you  the  manuscript  here?"  said  Lucien, 
coldl}'. 

"  Yes,  here  it  is,  m}'  3'oung  friend,"  replied  Dauriat, 
whose  manners  to  Lucien  were  singularh'  softened. 

Lucien  took  the  parcel  without  noticing  the  condition 
of  the  string,  so  convinced  was  he  that  Dauriat  had 
read  the  sonnets.  He  left  the  office  without  seeming 
either  disappointed  or  displeased.  Dauriat  accompanied 
the  two  friends  into  the  outer  room,  talking  of  his  own 
weekly  journal  and  Lousteau's  daih'.  Lucien  held  the 
bundle  of  manuscript  carelessly  in  his  hand. 

"  Do  you  think  Dauriat  has  read,  or  got  any  one  to 
read  your  sonnets?"  whispered  Lousteau. 

"Yes,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Look  at  the  fastening." 

Lucien  then  perceived  that  the  string  and  the  ink  line 
were  exactly  together. 

"Which  of  my  sonnets  did  you  particularly  like?  " 
he  said,  pale  with  anger,  to  the  publisher. 


264     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


(( 


The}^  are  all  remarkable,  my  friend,"  replied  Dau- 
riat,  "  but  the  one  to  the  '  Dais}^,'  is  delightful ;  the  clos- 
ing thought  is  so  delicate,  so  refined  ;  it  was  that  which 
convinced  me  that  your  prose  writings  will  have  great 
success.  I  at  once  recommended  3^ou  to  Finot  for  the 
paper.  Write  us  articles,  and  we  will  paj^  handsomelj' 
for  them.  You  see,  it  is  all  very  well  to  dream  of  fame, 
but  don't  neglect  the  solid  thing ;  take  the  bird  in  hand. 
When  3^ou  are  rich  you  can  write  poems." 

The  poet  darted  out  into  the  gallerj^  to  avoid  an  ex- 
plosion ;  he  was  furious. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Lousteau,  who  followed  him, 
"  be  calm  ;  accept  men  for  what  they  are,  — means  to 
your  hand.     Do  you  want  to  revenge  3'ourself  ?  " 

"  At  an}'  cost,"  replied  the  poet. 

"  Here's  a  cop}'  of  Nathan's  book  which  Dauriat  has 
just  given  me  ;  the  second  edition  comes  out  to-morrow. 
Read  the  book  and  dash  off  an  article  that  will  demolish 
it.  Felicien  Vernou  can't  endure  Nathan,  whose  success 
injures,  he  thinks,  the  chances  of  his  forth-coming  novel. 
One  of  the  manias  of  a  little  mind  like  his  is  that 
there's  no  room  under  the  sun  for  two  successes. 
He  '11  get  your  article  into  the  great  daily  he  is  on." 

"  But  what  can  I  say  against  the  book?  It  is  fine," 
cried  Lucien. 

"Ah,  ga!  my  dear  fellow,  do  learn  your  business," 
said  Lousteau,  laughing.  "  The  book,  whether  a 
masterpiece  or  not,  is  to  become  under  your  pen  a 
piece  of  stupidity,  or  a  dangerous,  unhealthy  work." 

"But  how?" 

"  Change  its  merits  into  defects." 

"  I  am  not  capable  of  such  a  performance." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    265 

"  My  clear  friend,  a  journalist  is  an  acrobat ;  3'oa 
must  get  accustomed  to  tlae  inconveniences  of  the  pro- 
fession. Now  I  'm  a  kind-hearted  fellow  mj'self,  and 
this  is  the  way  I  manage  under  similar  circumstances. 
Pay  attention  to  what  I  sa}',  young  one  !  Begin  by 
calling  it  a  fine  work,  and  you  can  amuse  30urself  hy 
saying  just  what  3'ou  think  about  that.  The  readers 
will  say,  '  Come,  this  critic  has  no  jealousy,  he  '11  be 
impartial.'  After  that  the}'  '11  regard  what  you  say  as 
conscientious.  Having  thus  obtained  the  readers'  re- 
spect, 3'ou  go  on  to  regret  the  necessity  of  blaming  the 
new  school  into  which  such  books  are  about  to  lead 
French  literature. .  France,  3'Ou  will  sa}^  should  guide 
the  intelligence  of  the  whole  world  ;  until  to-day  French 
writers  have,  from  age  to  age,  maintained  that  ascend- 
ency, and  have  held  Europe  to  the  path  of  analysis  and 
philosophical  research  b}^  the  power  of  their  style  and 
the  originality  of  form  the}'  have  given  to  ideas.  Here 
you  stick  in,  to  please  the  bourgeoisie,  a  panegyric  on 
Voltaire  and  Rousseau,  or  Diderot,  Montesquieu,  and 
Buffon.  You  explain  how  relentless  the  French  lan- 
guage is  ;  how  it  spreads  like  a  varnish  over  thought. 
You  set  up  axioms,  such  as:  'A  great  French  writer 
is  always  a  great  man  ;  he  is  compelled  by  his  lan- 
guage to  be  perpetually  thinking ;  it  is  not  so  with 
other  countries,'  etc.  You  prove  that  proposition  b}' 
comparing  Rabener,  a  satirical  German  moralist,  with 
la  Bruyere.  There  is  nothing  which  gives  a  more  solid 
base  to  criticism  than  a  few  remarks  about  an  unknown 
foreign  author.  Kant,  for  instance,  is  Cousin's  pedes- 
tal. Once  on  that  ground  3'ou  get  off  a  saying  which 
sums  up  and  explains  to  fools  the  system  of  our  men 


266     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

of  genius  of  the  last  centuiy ;  3^ou  call  their  literature 
the  '  literature  of  ideas.'  Armed  with  that  sa3'ing, 
you  can  fling  the  illustrious  dead  at  the  heads  of  all 
living  authors.  You  explain  how  in  these  da3'S  there  is 
growing  up  a  literature  which  abuses  the  use  of  dialogue 
(the  easiest  form  of  writing),  and  of  description,  which 
relieves  both  author  and  reader  of  the  necessity  of  think- 
ing. You  compare  the  novels  of  Voltaire,  Diderot 
Sterne,  Lesage,  so  solid,  so  incisive,  with  the  modern 
novel,  where  everything  is  presented  in  scenes  and 
images,  and  which  has  been  over-dramatized  by  Walter 
Scott.  In  a  style  of  that  kind,  you  sa}',  there  is  no 
room  for  creative  talent.  The  Walter  Scott  romance 
is,  you  remark,  a  st3'le,  not  a  S3'stem.  You  attack  the 
fatal  modern  st3'le  in  which  ideas  are  diluted  and  run 
to  a  thread,  —  a  st3'le  attainable  b3'^  the  commonest  intel- 
lect, and  with  which  anv  one  can  be  an  author  at  the 
smallest  cost ;  a  style  on  which  3'ou  fasten  the  name  of 
'  imaginar3^  literature.'  At  this  point  you  turn  the 
argument  against  Nathan  and  show  that  he  is  a  mere 
imitator,  and  has  onl3'  the  external  appearance  of 
genius.  The  fine,  compact  form  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tur3^  is  lacking  in  his  work,  he  substitutes  events  for 
sentiments.  His  action  is  not  life  ;  his  scenes  offer  no 
ideas.  Throw  out  a  lot  of  sentences  like  that,  and  the 
public  will  catch  them  up.  In  spite  of  the  great  merits 
of  this  book,  it  seems  to  30U  dangerous,  even  fatal.  It 
opens  the  Temple  of  Fame  to  the  million  ;  3-ou  see  in 
the  distance  an  army  of  pett3'  writers  who  will  hasten 
to  imitate  this  novel  style.  Here  3'ou  can  launch  out 
into  bitter  lamentations  on  the  decadence  of  taste,  and 
3'OU    can    slip   in   praise    of    Messrs.    Etienne,    Jouy, 


Great  Man  of  tJie  Provinees  in  Paris.    267 

Tissot,  Gosse,  Duval,  Jay,  Benjamin  Constant,  Aignan, 
Baour-Lormian,  Villemain,  the  ballet-dancers  of  the 
Napoleonic  liberals,  under  whose  protection  Vernon's 
paper  lives.  You  point  to  that  glorious  phalanx,  re- 
sisting the  invasion  of  the  romanticists,  holding  firml}' 
to  ideas  and  rules  of  language,  against  mere  images  and 
gabble,  maintaining  the  great  Voltaireau  school  against 
the  English  and  German  innovations,  just  as  the  seven- 
teen orators  of  the  Left  struggle  for  the  nation  against 
the  ultras  of  the  Right.  Under  cover  of  tliose  names, 
revered  b}-  the  majority  of  Frenchmen  (who  will  alwa3's 
be  for  the  Opposition  part}-)  you  can  crush  Nathan, 
whose  work,  in  many  respects  so  fine,  opens  the  wa}- 
to  a  rush  of  literature  without  ideas.  From  that  point, 
you  see,  it  is  no  question  of  Nathan  and  his  book,  but 
of  France  and  her  glory.  The  duty  of  all  honest  and 
courageous  pens  is  to  firmly  oppose  such  foreign  im- 
portations. There,  you  flatter  and  please  subscribers. 
The  French  reader  is  too  intellio;ent  to  be  misled.  If 
publishers,  by  means  to  which  you  will  not  allude,  jug- 
gle a  success,  the  real  public  soon  judges  for  itself  and 
corrects  the  mistakes  of  the  five  hundred  fools  who 
compose  the  literary  vanguard.  You  then  say  that  hav- 
ing had  the  good  fortune  to  sell  oflT  the  first  edition  of 
this  book,  the  publisher  is  verj^  audacious  in  producing 
a  second,  and  you  regret  that  so  able  a  man  understands 
the  instincts  of  the  French  people  so  little.  There's 
your  outline  :  salt  it  with  a  little  wit,  season  it  with  a 
touch  of  vinegar,  and  Dauriat  is  fried  brown  on  the  grid- 
iron. But  don't  forget  to  pit}'  Nathan  for  a  passing 
mistake,  and  say  that  if  he  abandons  this  style  he  may 
become  one  of  the  greatest  lights  of  modern  literature. " 


268     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

Lucien  listened  in  stupefaction.  As  Lousteau  spoke 
the  scales  fell  from  his  eyes  ;  he  beheld  literaiy  truths 
he  had  never  once  suspected. 

''  What  you  sa}',"  he  cried,  "  is  true  ;  it  is  just !  " 

"  If  it  were  not,  3'ou  couldn't  batter  down  Nathan's 
book,"  replied  Lousteau.  "  Now  3'ou  've  learnt,  my 
bo}',  the  first  style  of  article  we  employ  to  demolish  a 
work.  That's  the  pick-axe  style.  But  there  are  plenty 
of  others;  jou'll  learn  them  in  time.  When  3'ou  are 
obliged  to  speak  well  of  a  man  3^ou  don't  like,  —  for 
proprietors  and  editors-in-chief  are  sometimes  under 
compulsion,  — 3'Ou  string  out  a  lot  of  negations  :  that 's 
what  we  call  the  '  article  de  fonds.'  You  put  the  title 
of  the  book  at  the  head  of  the  article  ;  then  3'ou  begin 
with  general  reflections,  in  which  you  hark  back  to  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  if  3'ou  like,  after  which  3'OU  end  up 
b3^  saying,  '  These  considerations  bring  us  to  the  book 
of  Monsieur  Such-a-one,  which  will  form  the  subject  of 
a  second  article.'  Of  course  the  second  article  is  never 
written.  It  is  smothered  between  two  promises.  In 
this  case  3'OU  are  not  writing  against  Nathan,  but 
against  Dauriat ;  therefore  you  want  the  pick-axe  st3'le. 
If  a  work  is  realh^  good  the  pick  does  n't  do  it  any  harm, 
but  if  the  book  is  bad  it  goes  to  the  core  of  it :  in  the 
first  case  it  onh*  harms  the  publisher ;  in  the  second  it 
does  good  service  to  the  public.  These  st3'les  of  liter- 
ary criticism  are  used  also  for  political  criticism." 

Etienne's  cruel  lesson  opened  man3'  cells  in  Lu- 
cien's  imagination  ;  he  began  to  understand  the  trade 
thoroughly. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  oflSce,"  said  Lousteau  ;  "we  shall 
find  our  friends  there,  and  we  can  agree  on  a  cavalry 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    269 


charge   against   Nathan.      It  will   make   them  laugh, 
you  '11  see." 

When  the}^  reached  the  rue  Saint-Fiacre  they  went 
straight  to  the  garret  where  the  paper  was  concocted, 
and  Lucien  was  mucli  surprised  and  gratified  to  see  the 
alacrity  with  which  his  comrades  agreed  to  demolish 
Nathan's  book.  Hector  MerUn  took  a  shp  of  paper 
and  wrote  the  following  notice,  which  he  immediately 
carried  off  to  his  newspaper :  — 

"A  second  edition  of  Monsieur  Nathan's  book  is  an- 
nounced. We  intended  to  say  nothing  of  that  work ;  but 
this  appearance  of  success  will  oblige  us  to  publish  an  ar- 
ticle, less  upon  the  book  itself  than  upon  the  tendencies  of 
our  rising  literature." 

At  the  head  of  the  witticisms  for  the  next  day's  issue, 
Lousteau  put  the  following  item  in  his  own  paper :  — 

"  Dauriat  is  about  to  publish  a  second  edition  of  Monsieur 
Nathan's  book.  He  apparently  forgets  the  legal  proverb, 
'  Non  bis  in  idem.'     All  honor  to  rash  courage." 

iStienne's  lesson  was  like  a  torch  to  Lucien,  whose 
desire  to  avenge  himself  on  Dauriat  took  the  place  in 
his  soul  of  conscience  and  inspiration.  Three  days 
later,  during  which  time  he  did  not  leave  Coralie's 
chamber,  where  he  worked  beside  the  fire,  waited  on 
by  Berenice,  and  caressed  in  his  moments  of  weariness 
b}'  the  attentive  and  silent  Coralie,  Lucien  produced  a 
fair  copy  of  a  three-columned  criticism,  in  which  he  had 
really  risen  to  a  surprising  height.  It  was  nine  o'clock 
at  night.  He  ran  to  the  oftice,  fonnd  his  associates, 
and  read  them  his  article.     They  listened  attentively. 


270     Great  Man  of  the  Pi'ovinces  in  Paris. 

Felicien  said  not  a  word,  but  he  took  the  cop}"  and 
rushed  downstairs. 

"  AVhat's  the  matter  with  him?"  cried  Lucien. 

"He  has  carried  your  article  to  his  printing  room," 
said  Hector  Merlin.  "  It  is  fine  ;  there 's  not  a  word 
to  take  out  nor  a  line  to  add." 

"  It  w^as  only  necessary  to  show  you  the  wa}',"  said 
Lousteau. 

"I'd  like  to  see  Nathan's  face  when  he  reads  that 
to-morrow,"  said  one  of  the  journalists,  on  whose  face 
beamed  a  gentle  satisfaction. 

"  One  had  better  be  your  friend,"  remarked  Merlin. 

"Then  you  reallj'  think  it  good?"  asked  Lucien, 
eagerl}'. 

"  Blondet  and  Vignon  won't  like  it,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Here's  a  little  article,"  said  Lucien,  addressing  his 
editor-in-chief,  "  which  I  have  written  for  3'ou  ;  if  you 
approve  it  I  can  suppl}'  a  series  in  the  same  st3'le." 

"Read  it,"  said  Lousteau. 

Lucien  thereupon  read  them  one  of  those  delightful 
articles  which  subsequenth'  made  a  fortune  for  the 
"petit  journal,"  —  articles  in  two  columns  sketching 
the  minor  details  of  Parisian  life,  —  a  face,  a  type,  an 
ordinar}'  event,  or  some  salient  singularit}'.  This  first 
specimen,  entitled  "Les  Passants  de  Paris,"  was  writ- 
ten in  the  new  and  original  method  b}'  which  thought 
is  struclv  out  from  the  clash  of  words,  while  the  chiming 
of  adverbs  and  adjectives  awakens  attention.  This  ar- 
ticle was  as  different  from  the  sober  and  earnest  article 
on  Nathan  as  "  Les  Lettres  Persanes "  differ  from 
"L'Esprit  des  Lois." 

"  You  are  a  born  journalist,"  said  Lousteau.    "  That 


fthaTT  go  in  to-morrow^ ;  write  aa  many  more  as  jqii 
Eke.'' 

—  Xh.  ea ! ""  3aM  Merlin.  '^*lo  von  know  Daurint:  is 
foriocis  at  the  two  .  _  -  we  showed  him  in  his  shoD. 
I  Ve  just  come  fcom  there.  5^  fiiiminaual  oaths  ami 
cursed  Fmot  for  having  soL^  ^  . «  tie  jommaL  As  fer 
me.  I  took  him  aside  and  wiiispered  in  his  etu: :  *  Those 
■•  Daisies  *'  will  cost  jon  dear.  Why  did  yon  give  the 
cold  sho  older  to  a  man  of  talent  whom  the  newspap«as 
have  snapped  '^ ;  ^     * 

•'Daariat  wiii  oe  anziliila:-':  .  '  yonr  artieie  waen  ne 
reads  it  in  to-morrows  paper."  said  Loustean  to  Lncien. 
••Now  yon  see  what  joiimalism.  is.  don't  yoa?  And^ 
by  the  bye.  yocir  other  vengeance  h  on  the  way.  The 
Baron  dii  Chatelet  came  here  tliis  morning  and  asked 
for  yoor  address.  The  ex-beaii  has  n"t  any  nerve :  he  is 
in  despair.  Have  n*t  yon  seen  to-day  s  paper  ?  There 
was  another  article  aboat  him.  '^ery  fanny,  headed. 
•  Fnneral  of  the  Heron  wept  hj  the  Cutiielish*"  Madame 
de  Bargeton  goes  by  the  name  of  the  '  Cuttlelish '  in 
society,  and  Chatelet  is  called  '  Baron  Heron.* "" 

Lncien  took  the  paper  and  conld  not  help  ^ugriing 
as  he  read  the  article  which  was  written  hv  Vernoi. 

•'They  *R  soon  capitulate/'  said  Hector  3' 

Lucien  did  his  share  joyously  of  the  jokes  anti  Lesser 
articles  required  tor  the  morr»:>w's  paper,  the  company 
meanwhile  smokiuu  and  talking,  rt  _  the  sdventures 
of  the  day.  the  tbibles  of  comrades,  or  some  new  detail 
of  their  hves.  This  conversation,  which  was  eminently 
sarcastic,  wittv.  and  iU-natured.  ijave  Lucien  a  kev  to 
the  Inner  Ute  and  morals  of  literature. 

*•  Come.   Lucien.**  said  Lousteau.   *'  while  thev  are 


272     Great  Ma7i  of  the  Proimices  in  Paris. 

setting  up  the  paper  I'll  take  a  turn  with  you  and  pre- 
sent you  to  the  managers,  and  usher  you  behind  the 
scenes  of  your  four  theatres ;  after  that  we  "11  go  and 
frolic  with  Florine  and  Coralie  at  the  Panorama- 
Dramatique." 

Arm  in  arm  they  went  from  theatre  to  theatre,  at 
each  of  which  Lucien  was  enthroned  as  critic,  compli- 
mented b}'  the  managers,  and  ogled  by  the  actresses, 
who  all  knew  b}'  this  time  that  a  single  article  of  his 
had  given  Coralie  and  Florine  such  importance  that 
one  was  eno^aojed  at  the  Gvmnase  for  twelve  thousand 
francs  a  year,  and  the  other  at  the  Panorama  for  eight 
thousand.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  series  of  small  ovations, 
which  magnified  Lucien  in  his  own  eyes  and  gave  him 
the  measure  of  his  new  power.  B\'  eleven  o'clock  the 
two  friends  reached  the  Panorama-Dramatique,  where 
Lucien  assumed  an  air  of  eas}'  superioritj'  which  did 
marvels.  Nathan  was  there  ;  he  held  out  his  hand  to 
Lucien,  who  took  it  and  pressed  it. 

"Ah  Qa !  m}-  masters!"  said  Nathan,  looking  at 
the  pair,  "  I  hear  3'ou  are  trying  to  bury  me !  " 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow,  mv  dear  fellow,  and  vou  '11  see 
then  how  Lucien  has  laid  hold  of  you  !  I  give  3'ou  my 
word  of  honor  3'ou  '11  be  satisfied.  When  a  criticism  is 
as  deep  and  serious  as  that  is  it  does  a  book  great 


service." 


Lucien  was  scarlet  with  shame. 

"Is  it  very  severe?"  asked  Nathan. 

"  It  is  serious,"  replied  Lousteau. 

"Oh,  then,  there's  no  harm  done,"  said  Nathan. 
"  Hector  Merlin  said  at  the  Vaudeville  tliat  I  was  un- 
mercifully cut  up." 


Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    273 

"Let  him  say  so,  but  wait,"  said  Lucien,  escaping  to 
Coralie's  dressing-room  in  tlie  wake  of  the  actress  as 
she  left  the  stage  in  her  bewitching  Spanish  costume. 

The  next  morning  as  Lucien  and  Coralie  were  break- 
fasting they  heard  a  cabriolet  in  the  somewhat  solitary 
street,  the  horse  of  which  had  the  step  of  a  thorough- 
bred as  he  was  pulled  up  before  the  door.  Lucien  saw 
from  the  window  a  fine  English  horse,  and  Dauriat  in 
the  act  of  throwing  the  reins  to  his  groom  before 
getting  out. 

"It  is  the  publisher,"  said  Lucien  to  his  mistress. 

'•  Let  him  wait,"  said  Coralie  to  Berenice. 

Lucien  smiled  at  the  quiet  assurance  of  the  young 
o;irl,  who  so  instantly  identified  herself  with  his  interests, 
and  he  rushed  to  kiss  her  with  true  effusion  ;  her  native 
wit  had  explained  to  her  the  whole  matter. 

This  prompt  appearance  of  the  overbearing  pub- 
lisher, the  sudden  humility  of  the  prince  of  charlatans, 
was  caused  b}'  circumstances  which  are  now  almost 
entirel}'^  forgotten,  so  completely  has  the  business 
of  publishing  been  transformed  within  the  last  fifteen 
3'ears.  From  1816  to  1827,  the  period  at  which  read- 
ing-rooms (established  in  the  first  instance  for  the 
reading  of  newspapers)  undertook  to  provide  their  sub- 
scribers with  new  books,  and  the  pressure  of  the  fiscal 
laws  on  the  press  led  to  the  invention  of  advertisements, 
publishers  had  no  other  means  of  announcing  their 
publications  than  b}'  articles  inserted  in  the  feuilletons 
or  other  parts  of  the  daily  papers.  Up  to  1822  French 
newspapers  were  printed  on  such  ver}'  small  sheets 
that  the  great  journals  were  hardly  larger  than  what  are 
called    the    ''  little   journals,"     now.     To    resist    the 

18 


274     Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

t3Tanny  and  exactions  of  the  journalists,  Dauriat  and 
Ladvocat  liad  invented  a  system  of  posters,  with  which 
to  catch  the  attention  of  all  Paris,  and  on  which  were 
displayed,  in  fantastic  type  and  coloring,  vignettes  and 
even  lithographs,  which  made  the  poster  a  poem  to  the 
eye  and  often  a  deception  to  the  purse  of  the  amateur. 
These  posters  finalh^  became  so  original  that  one  of 
those  maniacs  called  ' '  collectors  "  possesses  an  un- 
broken series  of  them.  This  method  of  advertising, 
confined  at  first  to  shop  windows  and  the  booths  along 
the  boulevards,  though  it  afterwards  spread  elsewhere, 
was  partly  abandoned  after  the  introduction  of  adver- 
tisements. Nevertheless,  the  old  poster  will  always 
continue  to  exist,  especially  since  they  have  found  away 
to  plaster  the  walls  with  them.  The  advertisement, 
within  the  reach  of  moderate  finances,  which  has  now 
converted  the  fourth  page  of  all  newspapers  into  a  fer- 
tile field  for  speculators,  was  born  of  the  severity  of 
the  stamp  duty,  the  post-office,  and  the  bonds  for  the 
license.  These  exactions  were  first  imposed  during  the 
ministrv  of  Monsieur  de  Villele,  who  might  at  that  time 
have  kihed  the  newspapers  by  cheapening  and  vulgariz- 
ing them  ;  instead  of  which  he  created  a  privileged  class 
among  them  by  rendering  the  foundation  of  others  al- 
most impossible.  In  1821,  therefore,  newspapers  had 
really  a  power  of  life  and  death  over  the  conceptions  of 
thought  and  the  enterprises  of  publishers.  An  article 
inserted  among  the  ''Paris  Items"  announcing  a  new 
book  was  horribly  expensive.  Intrigues  were  so  compli- 
cated in  the  newspaper  offices,  and  at  night  on  the  battle- 
field of  the  press-rooms  about  the  hour  when  the  clicker 
decided  the  admission  or  rejection  of  such  or  such  an 


Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     275 

article,  that  the  powerful  publishers  kept  a  literar}^ 
man  in  their  pa}'  to  write  the  little  items  they  needed, 
in  which  it  was  essential  to  put  many  ideas  into  few 
words.  These  obscure  journalists  (who  were  not  paid 
unless  the  items  were  inserted)  were  often  obliged  to 
remain  all  night  in  the  press-room  to  make  sure  of  the 
insertion  of  either  some  fine  article  (obtained  heaven 
knows  how!)  or  those  little  items  contained  in  a  few 
lines,  which  were  called  in  after  years  "  reclames."  In 
the  present  day  all  the  habits  and  ways  of  literature 
and  of  publishing-houses  are  so  much  changed  that 
many  persons  will  regard  as  fabulous  this  statement  of 
the  immense  efforts,  solicitations,  meannesses,  and 
intrigues  which  the  necessit}^  of  obtaining  these 
"reclames,"  forced  on  publishers,  authors,  and  other 
seekers  after  fame.  Dinners,  cajoleries,  gifts,  were  all 
eraplo3'ed  in  the  seduction  of  journalists. 

Here  is  an  anecdote  which  will  show  the  power  of 
these  articles.  A  book  b}'  Monsieur  de  Chateaubriand 
on  the  last  of  the  Stuarts  was  perched  on  a  publisher's 
shelves  in  the  condition  of  a  "  nightins-ale."  A  sino;le  arti- 
cle  written  b}'  a  young  man  in  the  "Journal  des  Debats  " 
sold  the  whole  edition  in  a  week  !  At  a  period  when, 
in  order  to  read  a  book  it  was  necessary  to  buy  it,  ten 
thousand  copies  were  often  put  forth  in  one  edition  of 
certain  liberal  works  much  praised  by  the  journals  of 
the  Opposition  ;  but  then,  it  is  true,  Belgian  piracy  did 
not  exist.  The  preparatoiy  shots  of  Lucien's  friends 
and  Lucien's  own  article  would  have  the  effect  of  stop- 
ping the  sale  of  the  second  edition  of  Nathan's  book. 
Nathan  could  suffer  onl}'  in  his  pride ;  he  had  nothing 
to  lose  for  he  had  alread}'  been  paid  for  his  work  ;  but 


276       Great  Man  of  the  Proviyices  in  Paris, 

Dauriat  was  likely  to  lose  thirty  thousand  francs.  In 
fact,  the  whole  business  of  his  publishing-house  may  be 
summed  up  in  the  following  commercial  estimate :  one 
ream  of  blank  paper  is  worth  fifteen  francs  ;  printed, 
it  is  worth,  according  to  success,  five  francs  or  three 
hundred  francs.  A  single  article,  for  or  against,  often 
decided,  in  those  days,  this  financial  question.  Dauriat, 
who  had  five  hundred  reams  at  this  instant  for  sale, 
rushed  to  propitiate  Lucien.  The  late  sultan  became  a 
slave.  After  waiting  some  time  restlessly  and  making 
as  much  noise  as  he  could  while  parleying  with  Be'renice, 
he  at  last  obtained  an  audience  with  Lucien.  The 
arrogant  publisher  assumed  the  smiling  air  of  courtiers 
as  they  enter  the  royal  presence,  mingled  however  with 
a  certain  self-sufficienc}'  and  jollit}'. 

''  Don't  disturb  3'ourselves,  m}'  dear  loves  !  "  he  said. 
"  Ah,  how  charming !  3'ou  make  me  think  of  a  pair  of 
turtle-doves.  Who  would  suppose,  mademoiselle,  that 
this  man  who  has  the  look  of  a  young  girl  could  be  a 
tiger  with  steel  claws,  ready  to  tear  our  reputations  to 
pieces?  My  dear  fellow,"  he  continued,  sitting  down 
beside  Lucien,  —  "Mademoiselle,  I  am  Dauriat,"  he 
said,  interrupting  himself. 

The  publisher  thought  best  to  fire  his  name  as  a  pistol- 
shot,  finding  Coralie  not  cordial. 

"Monsieur,  have  you  breakfasted?  will  you  keep  us 
company?"  said  the  actress. 

"Why,  yes;  we  shall  talk  better  at  table,"  replied 
Dauriat.  "  Besides,  b}-  accepting  your  breakfast  I  shall 
have  the  right  to  ask  you  to  dinner  with  my  friend  Lu- 
cien, —  for  we  must  be  friends  now,  close  friends,  as 
the  hand  to  the  glove." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      211 

"  Berenice  !  bring  oysters,  lemons,  fresli  butter,  and 
champagne,"  said  Co'ralie. 

"  You  are  too  clever  a  man  not  to  know  what  brink's 
me  here,"  said  Dauriat,  looking  at  Lucien. 

"  You  have  come  to  buy  ray  sonnets?  " 

"  Precisely,"  replied  Dauriat.  "  First  of  all,  let  us  lay 
down  our  arms  on  both  sides." 

He  pulled  an  elegant  portfolio  from  his  pocket,  took 
out  tliree  bank-bills  of  a  thousand  francs  each,  laid  them 
on  a  plate,  and  offered  them  to  Lucien,  with  a  courtier 
like  air,  saying  as  he  did  so :  — 

"  Is  that  satisfactory  to. monsieur?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  poet,  who  felt  suddenly  plunged  into 
a  nameless  beatitude  at  the  sight  of  such  an  unhoped- 
for sum.  He  contained  himself,  but  he  was  sorely 
tempted  to  sing  and  dance ;  he  believed  in  Aladdin's 
lamp,  in  wizards,  —  in  short,  he  believed  in  his  own 
genius. 

"  So,  then,  the  ''Daisies,'  are  mine;  "  said  the  pub- 
lisher ;  "  but  you  will  never  attack  any  of  my 
publications  ?  " 

"The  'Daisies,'  are  3'ours,  but  I  cannot  pledge  ni}" 
pen ;  that  belongs  to  my  friends,  as  theirs  to  me." 

"  But  you  are  now  one  of  ni}^  authors.  All  m}^ 
authors  are  mj'  friends.  You  certainh'  will  agree  not 
to  injure  my  business  without  giving  me  due  notice  so 
that  I  may  evade  the  attack." 

"Yes,  certainl}',  I  will  promise  that." 

"  To  your  coming  fame  !  "  said  Dauriat,  raising  his 
glass. 

"  I  see  you  have  read  the  '  Daisies,'  "  said  Lucien. 

Dauriat  was  not  disconcerted. 


278      Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"M3\young  friend,'^  he  said,  "to  buy  your  poems 
without  knowing  them  is  tlie  finest  flattery  a  publisher 
can  offer  you.  In  six  months  3'ou  will  be  a  great  poet ; 
you  will  have  articles  written  upon  you  ;  every  one  will 
fear  you  ;  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  selling  3'our  book. 
It  is  not  I  who  have  changed,  it  is  3^ou  ;  last  week  your 
poems  were  no  more  to  me  than  cabbage-leaves,  to-day 
your  position  makes  them  daughters  of  Pieria." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Lucien,  made  adorabl3'  imperti- 
nent and  satirical  by  the  sultanic  pleasure  of  possess- 
ing a  beautiful  mistress  and  the  certainty  of  success, 
"if3'ou  have  not  read  m3^  sonnets  3'Ou  have  certainl3^ 
read  m3^  article.'* 

"  Yes,  my  friend  ;  otherwise  do  3^ou  suppose  I  should 
be  here?  It  is,  unfortunately,  ver3'  fine,  that  dreadful 
article.  Ah !  3'ou  have  immense  talent,  3'oung  one. 
Take  m3'  advice,  make  the  most  of  your  vogue,"  he  said, 
hiding  under  an  appearance  of  friendliness  the  extreme 
impertinence  of  his  words.  "  But  have  3'ou  seen  the 
paper?  have  you  read  your  own  article?" 

"  Not  3'et,"  said  Lucien,  "  though  it  is  the  first  time 
I  ever  printed  a  serious  bit  of  prose  ;  Hector  has  proba- 
bl3'  sent  the  paper  to  m3'  rooms  in  the  rue  Chariot." 

"Here,  read  it!"  said  Dauriat,  imitating  Talma  in 
"  Manlius." 

Lucien  took  the  sheet,  but  Coralie  snatched  it  from 
him. 

"To  me  the  first-fruits  of  3'our  pen!"  she  cried, 
laughing. 

Dauriat  was  throusfhout  extremelv  flatterins^  and 
courtier-like  ;  he  feared  Lucien,  and  he  therefore  invited 
him  with  Coralie  to  a  grand  dinner  he  was  giving  to 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    279 

journalists  at  the  close  of  the  week.  Then  he  carried 
off  the  manuscript  of  the  "Daisies,"  telling  his  poet  as 
he  did  so  to  come  whenever  he  liked  to  the  Galeries  de 
Bois  and  sign  the  agreement  which  he  would  have 
ready.  Faithful  to  the  regal  airs  b}-  which  he  endeav- 
ored to  impose  on  shallow  minds  and  to  pass  for  a 
Mecaenas  rather  than  a  publisher,  he  left  the  three  thou- 
sand francs  without  taking  a  receipt,  refusing  Lucien's 
offer  of  one  with  a  careless  gesture,  and  kissing 
Coralie's  hand  gallanth'  as  he  departed. 

"Well,  dear  love,  how  many  of  those  little  rags 
would  3'ou  have  had  if  you'd  stayed  in  a  hole  in  the 
rue  de  Cluny,  plodding  in  that  old  library  of  Sainte- 
Genevieve?  "  said  Coralie,  to  whom  Lucien  had  related 
his  whole  previous  existence.  "  Those  little  friends  of 
yours  in  the  rue  des  Quatre-Vents  strike  me  as 
simpletons." 

The  brotherhood  were  simpletons !  and  Lucien 
laughed  as  he  heard  this  judgment  pronounced !  He 
had  read  his  printed  article  ;  he  had  tasted  the  ineffable 
jo}'  of  authors,  that  first  enjoyment  of  self-love  whicli 
never  but  once  bewitches  the  soul.  Reading  and  re-read- 
ins:  his  article  he  himself  saw  more  clearlv  tlie  drift  and 
bearing  of  it.  Print  is  to  manuscript  what  the  theatre 
is  to  women  ;  it  brings  into  a  strong  light  both  beauties 
and  defects ;  it  injures  as  much  as  it  embellishes ;  a 
defect  catches  the  eye  even  more  vividly  than  a  fine 
thought.  Lucien,  quite  intoxicated  with  success,  gave 
no  thought  to  Nathan,  —  Nathan  was  onl}^  a  stepping- 
stone.  Lucien  swam  in  joy ;  he  was  rich,  success  was 
his  !  For  a  lad  who  had  latel}'  gone  humbly  down  the 
steps   of  Beaulieu,    returning   to   FHoumeau    and   the 


280       Gircat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Postel  garret,  where  he  and  his  whole  famity  had  lived 
on  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year,  the  sum  which 
Dauriat  had  given  him  was  like  the  mines  of  Potosi. 
Memor}',  still  vivid  though  the  perpetual  enjoyments  of 
his  Parisian  life  were  soon  to  efface  it,  recalled  to  his 
mind  his  beautiful,  noble  sister  Eve,  her  husband 
David,  and  his  own  poor  mother.  Under  this  influence 
he  sent  Berenice  at  once  to  the  coach  office  with  a 
package  of  five  hundred  francs  addressed  to  his  mother. 
To  him  and  to  Coralie  this  repa3'ment  seemed  a  fine 
action.  The  actress  kissed  her  Lucien,  calling  him  a 
model  son  and  brother,  and  loading  him  with  caresses  ; 
for  it  is  noticeable  that  acts  which  they  consider  gener- 
ous delight  these  kind  creatures,  who  carry  their  own 
hearts  in  their  hands. 

"  Now  that  we  have  got  our  dinners  secured  for  a 
time,"  she  cried,  "we'll  make  a  bit  of  a  carnival, — 
you've  worked  hard  enough." 


Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    281 


XVII. 

A   STUDY    IN    THE    ART    OF    WRITING    PALINODES. 

CoRALiE,  who  was  bent,  womanlike,  on  exhibiting 
the  beauty  of  a  man  whom  eveiy  other  woman  would 
envy  her,  took  Lucien  to  Staub's,  for  she  did  not  think 
him  sufficiently  well  dressed.  From  there  the  lovers 
drove  to  the  Bois,  returning  to  dine  with  Madame  du 
Val-Noble,  where  Lucien  found  Rastignac,  Bixiou,  des 
Lupeaulx,  Finot,  Blondet,  Vignon,  the  Baron  de  Nu- 
cingen,  Beaudenord,  Philippe  Bridau,  Conti,  the  great 
musician,  —  all  artists  or  speculators;  men  who  seek 
to  balance  great  labor  bj^  great  emotions.  Thej'  re- 
ceived Lucien  cordiall3\  Lucien,  confident  in  himself, 
displayed  his  wit  as  if  it  were  not  his  stock  in  trade, 
and  was  at  once  proclaimed  "  un  homme  fort,"  —  the 
favorite  praise  of  the  day  among  these  semi-comrades. 

"We  ought  to  wait  and  see  what  there  reall}'  is  in 
him,"  remarked  Theodore  Gaillard,  a  poet  patronized 
by  the  court,  who  was  just  now  considering  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  little  royalist  journal  called  later  "  Le 
Reveil." 

After  dinner  the  two  journalists  accompanied  their 
mistresses  to  the  Opera,  where  Merlin  had  a  box,  and 
the  whole  company  followed  them.  Lucien  thus  re- 
appeared triumphantly  on  the  very  ground  where  some 


282     Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

months  earlier  he  had  fallen  so  heavil3\  He  walked 
about  the  fo3'er  arm  in  arm  with  Merlin  and  Blondet, 
and  stared  at  the  dandies  who  had  formerly  ignored 
him.  Chatelet  was  under  his  feet !  De  Marsa}',  Van- 
denesse,  Manerville,  the  lions  of  societ}',  exchanged  a 
few  insolent  looks  with  him.  Undoubtedl}'  the  hand- 
some and  now  elegant  Lucien  had  been  discussed  in 
Madame  d'Espard's  box,  where  Rastignac  paid  a  long 
visit,  for  Madame  de  Bargeton  and  the  marquise  turned 
their  opera  glasses  on  Coralie.  Did  Lucien's  presence 
rouse  regrets  in  the  heart  of  Madame  de  Bargeton? 
That  thought  absorbed  the  i)oet's  mind.  Beholding 
once  more  the  Corinne  of  Angouleme,  a  desire  for  re- 
venge again  shook  his  soul,  as  it  did  on  the  day  he  was 
forced  to  endure  the  contempt  of  that  woman  and  her 
cousin  in  the  Champs  Elj'sees. 

'^  Did  you  bring  a  talisman  with  3'ou  from  your  prov- 
ince ?  "  said  Blondet  to  Lucien  some  days  later,  coming 
in  about  eleven  o'clock,  before  the  latter  was  up.  ''His 
beauty,"  went  on  Blondet,  turning  to  Coralie  and  kissing 
her  on  the  forehead,  "  is  making  ravages  from  garret  to 
cellar,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  I  have  come 
with  a  request,  my  dear  fellow  !  "  pressing  the  poet's 
hand.  "Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Montcornet  wishes 
that  I  should  present  you  to  her.  You  won't,  I  am 
sure,  refuse  such  a  charming  young  woman,  at  whose 
house  3^ou  will  meet  the  pick  of  the  great  world  " 

"  If  Lucien  is  nice,"  said  Coralie,  "  he  won't  go  and 
see  your  countess.  Why  should  he  run  after  the  great 
world?     He  'd  be  bored  to  death." 

"Do  you  want  to  keep  him  locked  up?  Are  3'ou 
jealous  of  well-bred  women?"    asked  Blondet. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    283 
"Yes,"   cried  Coralie ;    "they  are  worse   than  we 


are." 


"How  do  you  know  that,  my  little  pet?"  said 
Blondet. 

"By  their  husbands,"  she  answered.  "  Yon  forget 
I  once  had  de  Marsay  for  six  months." 

"Do  you  think,  my  dear,"  said  Blondet,  "that  I 
am  particularl}^  anxious  to  present  so  handsome  a  man 
as  3'ours  to  Madame  de  Montcornet?  If  3'ou  are  op- 
posed to  it,  let  us  consider  that  nothing  has  been  said. 
But  the  matter,  as  I  take  it,  is  less  about  women  than 
to  make  truce  with  Lucien  on  account  of  a  poor  devil 
his  paper  is  tormenting.  The  Baron  du  Chatelet  is  fool 
enough  to  take  those  articles  to  heart.  The  Marquise 
d'Espard,  Madame  de  Bargeton,  and  the  friends  of 
Madame  de  Montcornet  feel  for  '  The  Heron,'  and  I 
have  promised  to  reconcile  Laura  and  Petrarch." 

"Ah!"  cried  Lucien,  whose  veins  glowed  with  fresh 
blood  as  he  felt  the  intoxicating  delight  of  gratified 
vengeance  ;  "so,  then,  I  reall}^  have  them  under  foot? 
You  make  me  reverence  mj^  pen,  adore  my  friends, 
worship  the  might}'  power  of  the  Press.  I  myself  have 
not  written  an  article  on  '  The  Heron '  and  his  loves  ; 
but  I  will,  —  yes  !  "  he  cried,  seizing  Blondet  round  the 
waist,  "I  will  go  to  your  Madame  de  Montcornet  as 
soon  as  that  couple  have  felt  the  weight  of  this  flimsy 
little  thing."  He  seized  the  pen  with  which  he  had 
written  the  article  on  Nathan,  and  flourished  it.  "  To- 
morrow I  '11  launch  two  columns  at  their  heads ;  and 
after  that  we  '11  see  about  it !  Don't  be  uneas}',  Cora- 
lie  ;  it  is  not  love,  but  vengeance,  and  I  mean  it  shall 
be  complete ! " 


284     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

'^  There 's  a  man  for  you  !  "  exclaimed  Blondet.  "  If 
3'ou  onl}^  knew,  Lucien,  how  rare  it  is  to  meet  with  an 
outburst  like  that  in  this  blase  Paris,  3-ou  would  appre- 
ciate yourself.  You  are  a  daring  scamp,"  he  said  (or 
rather  he  used  a  still  stronger  expression)  ;  "  3'ou  are 
in  the  path  that  leads  to  power." 

"And  he  '11  get  there,"  said  Coralie. 

*'  He  has  alread}'  gone  a  good  distance  in  six  weeks." 

*'  Yes  ;  and  when  there  's  onh'  a  step  between  him 
and  some  great  success  he  ma}'  stand  on  my  body," 
said  Coralie. 

"You  love  as  in  the  Golden  Age,"  said  Blondet. 
"  Lucien,  I  compliment  you  on  your  great  article.  It  is 
full  of  new  things.     You  are  a  past  master  already." 

Lousteau  now  came  in  with  Hector  Merlin  and  Ver- 
non. Lucien  w^as  immensely  flattered  at  being  the 
object  of  such  attentions.  Felicien  brought  him  a  hun- 
dred francs  for  his  article.  The  journal  felt  the  neces- 
sit}^  of  at  once  rewarding  such  a  piece  of  work  and 
securing  the  writer  to  its  interests. 

Coralie,  seeing  this  procession  of  journalists,  had  sent 
to  the  Cadran-Bleu,  the  nearest  restaurant,  and  ordered 
breakfast ;  and  she  presenth'  invited  them  into  the 
dining-room.  In  the  middle  of  the  repast,  when  the 
champagne  was  mounting  to  all  heads,  the  true  reason 
of  the  visit  of  these  comrades  was  made  apparent. 

"  Lucien,  3'Ou  don't  want  to  make  an  enemy  of 
Nathan,"  said  Lousteau.  "  Nathan  is  a  journalist ;  he 
has  friends  ;  he  '11  pla}^  3'Ou  some  ugl}'  trick  when  3'our 
first  book  is  published.  We  saw  him  this  morning,  and 
he  is  much  cut  up.  You  '11  have  to  write  another  article 
and  squirt  a  lot  of  praise  in  his  face." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    285 

*•  What !  after  my  article  against  his  book  ?  "  cried 
Lucien. 

Blondet,  Merlin,  Yernou,  and  Lousteau  all  interrupted 
Lucien  with  a  burst  of  laughter. 

"You  have  invited  him  to  supper  here  for  the  daj- 
after  to-morrow  !  "  said  Blondet. 

"Your  article,"  said  Lousteau,  "wasn't  signed. 
Felicien,  who  is  n't  as  green  as  3'ou,  took  good  care  to 
put  a  C.  to  it ;  and  you  can  in  future  sign  all  your 
letters  so  in  his  paper,  which  you  know  is  pure  Left. 
Felicien  had  the  delicacy  not  to  compromise  your  fu- 
ture opinions.  At  Hector's  shop,  where  it  is  all  Right 
Centre,  you  can  sign  with  an  L.  These  precautions  are 
onh'  for  attacks  ;  we  sign  our  own  names  to  praises." 

"The  signatures  don't  trouble  me,"  said  Lucien, 
"  but  I  don't  see  anything  to  say  in  favor  of  the  book." 

"Did  you  really  think  what  you  wrote?"  asked 
Hector. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Lucien. 

'^  Ah !  my  dear  bo}',  I  thought  you  stronger  than 
that,"  said  Blondet.  "On  xi\y  word  of  honor,  looking 
at  that  forehead  of  yours,  I  endowed  you  with  the 
omnipotence  of  great  minds,  all  strongly  enough  con- 
stituted to  judge  of  everything  under  its  double  aspect. 
In  literature,  as  you  '11  find  out,  every  idea  has  its  ob- 
verse and  its  inverse ;  no  one  can  take  upon  himself  to 
sav  which  is  the  wronoj  side.  All  is  bilateral  in  the 
domain  of  thought.  Ideas  are  dual.  Janus  is  the 
myth  of  criticism,  and  the  s3'mbol  of  genius.  There's 
nothing  triangular  but  God.  That  which  makes  Mo- 
liere  and  Corneille  so  incomparably  great  is  the  faculty 
of  making  Alceste   say,  '  Yes/  and  Phillnte,  Octave, 


286     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

and  Cinna,  '  No.'  Rousseau,  in  his  '  Nouvelle  He- 
loise,'  has  written  a  letter  for  and  a  letter  against 
duelling,  and  I  '11  defy  an}-  one  to  sa}^  what  was  his  real 
opinion.  Which  of  us  can  judge  between  Clarissa  and 
Lovelace,  Hector  and  Achilles  ?  Who  is  Homer's  hero  ? 
What  did  Richardson  realfy  mean?  Criticism  ought  to 
consider  works  under  all  aspects.  We  are,  in  fact, 
reporters." 

"  Do  you  care  so  very  much  for  what  3'ou  have  writ- 
ten? "  said  Vernou,  with  a  satirical  air.  "  We  salesmen 
of  phrases  live  by  our  trade.  When  you  want  to  do 
fine  work  and  make  a  book  that  will  last,  3'ou  can  put 
3'our  thoughts  and  3'our  soul  into  it,  cling  to  it  and  fight 
for  it ;  but  as  for  these  little  articles,  read  to-da3'  and 
forgotten  to-morrow,  the3'  are  worth  nothing  but  the 
mone3^  the3^  bring.  If  you  attach  importance  to  such 
trash  you  might  as  well  make  the  sign  of  the  cross 
and  pra3'  to  the  Holy  Spirit  to  help  3'ou  write  a 
prospectus." 

They  all  seemed  astonished  to  find  that  Lucien  had 
scruples,  and  the3'  set  about  reducing  them  to  rags, 
under  pretence  of  investing  him  with  the  toga  virilis  of 
journalism. 

"  Do  you  know  how  Nathan  consoles  himself  for 
your  article  ?  "  said  Lousteau. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"He  cried  out:  '  Pooh!  such  little  articles  are  soon 
forgotten  ;  a  great  work  lives.'  But  all  the  same  he  '11 
come  to  your  supper  and  grovel  at  3'our  feet,  and  kiss 
youi-  claws,  and  declare  you  are  a  great  man." 

"  That  will  be  queer,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Queer  !  "  said  Blondet,  "it  is  necessar3'.*' 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    287 

"  Well,  I  consent,  my  friends,"  said  Lucien,  who  was 
slightly  tipsy  ;  "  but  how  am  I  to  set  about  it?" 

''  Write  three  fine  columns  for  Merlin's  paper  and 
refute  3'ourself,"  said  Lousteau.  "  We  have  just  told 
Nathan,  after  enjoying  his  wrath,  that  he  '11  soon  be  thank- 
ful to  us  for  stirring  up  a  controversy  that  will  sell  his 
book  in  a  week.  Just  now  he  thinks  you  a  sp}'  and  a 
scoundrel ;  day  after  to-morrow  he  '11  call  you  a  great 
man,  a  Plutarch  man,  a  strong  mind.  He  '11  embrace 
3'ou  as  a  friend.  Dauriat  has  been  here,  and  3'ou  have 
his  three  thousand  francs  ;  that  trick  is  played  and  won. 
Now,  then,  get  back  Nathan's  respect  and  friendship. 
You  did  not  want  to  injure  any  one  but  the  publisher. 
We  never  attack  and  immolate  any  but  our  enemies.  If 
it  concerned  a  rival,  or  an  inconvenient  talent  which  we 
wanted  to  neutralize,  that  's  another  thing  ;  but  Nathan 
is  a  friend.  Blondet  attacked  him  in  the  '  Mercure ' 
for  the  pleasure  of  replying  in  the  '  Debats  ; '  as  a 
result,  the  first  edition  of  the  book  sold  rapidly." 

"  But  my  friends,  on  the  word  of  an  honest  man,  I 
am  incapable  of  writing  praise  of  that  book." 

"  You  shall  have  another  hundred  francs,"  said  Mer- 
lin. "  Nathan  has  already  brought  you  in  ten  louis, 
without  counting  an  article  you  can  write  for  Finot's 
weekl}',  for  which  Dauriat  will  be  glad  enough  to  pay 
you  a  hundred  francs,  — total,  twent\'  louis  !  " 

''  But  what  am  I  to  say?  "  persisted  Lucien. 

''  I  '11  tell  you  how  to  manage  it,  my  bo}',"  said  Blondet, 
reflecting.  "  Env}-,  you'll  say,  which  fastens  on  all 
fine  works  as  a  worm  on  the  best  fruits,  has  endeavored 
to  undermine  this  book.  In  order  to  find  defects  the 
critic  was  forced  to  invent  theories  and  set  up  two  lit- 


288     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

eratures,  — the  literature  of  ideas,  and  the  literature  of 
images.    Start  from  that,  and  sa}'  that  the  highest  reach 
of  literar}^  art  is  to  infuse  ideas  into  images.     In  tr3ing 
to  prove  that  the  visible  should  be  poetical  you  can  re- 
gret that  our  language  is  so  stubborn  towards  poes}^ 
and  refer  to  the  blame  cast  b}^  foreigners  on  the  ^05/- 
tivisiin  of  our  st3'le  ;  that  will  give  3'ou  a  chance  to 
praise  M.  de  Canalis  and  Nathan  for  the  service  they 
have   done   to   France   in    loosening  the   conventional 
bonds  of  the  language.     Knock  over  3'our  other  argu- 
ment by  showing  the  progress  of  this  century  as  com- 
pared  with  the  eighteenth.     Invent  the  word    '  prog- 
v.^'ress  '  (capital  bamboozlement  for  the  bourgeoisie).     Our 
3'oung  literature  is  done  by  pictures,  —  representations, 
in  which  all  forms  are  mingled  :  comed3^,  drama,  de- 
scription, character,  dialogue,  —  woven  together  b3'  some 
interesting  plot.     The  novel,  which  requires  sentiment, 
style,  and  realit3',  is  the  greatest  of  all  modern  literary 
creations.     It  succeeds  comed3',  which,  under  our  pres- 
ent manners  and  customs,  is  no  longer  possible,  the  old 
laws  being  so  changed.     It  contains  both  the  fact  and 
the  idea  in  its  presentations,  which  require  the  wit  of  la 
Bruyere  and  his  incisive  morality,  also  a  treatment  of 
characters  like  that  of  Moliere,  and  the  grand  machinery 
of  Shakspeare,  with  his  painting  of  the  most  delicate 
shades  of  passion,  —  that  unique  treasure  left  to  us  b3^ 
our  forefathers.     Thus  the  novel  is  far  superior  to  the 
cold  mathematical  discussions  and  dr3'  analysis  of  tlie 
eighteenth  centur3\     The  novel,  3'Ou  can  sa3'  epigram- 
maticall3',  is  an  entertaining  epic.     Cite  Corinne,  and 
bolster  3'ourself  up  with  Madame  de  Stael.     The  eigh- 
teenth centur3'  brought   forth  the  problems  which  the 


Great  Mayi  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris.    289 

nineteenth  is  called  upon  to  solve ;  and  it  solves  them 
by  realities,  but  realities  which  live  and  move  and  have 
their  being  ;  it  allows  for  the  play  of  passion,  an  element 
ignored  by  Voltaire,  —  here  a  tirade  against  Voltaire. 
As  for  Rousseau,  he  only  dressed  up  arguments  and 
doctrines.  Julie  and  Claire  are  mere  lay-figures,  with- 
out flesh  or  blood.  You  can  enlarge  on  this  theme  and 
sa}'  that  we  owe  our  young  and  original  literatures  to 
the  Peace  and  to  the  Bourbons,  —  for  the  article  is  to 
go  into  a  Right  Centre  paper.  Ridicule  all  makers  of 
systems.  Bring  in  somewhere  an  indignant  flourish. 
'  Our  contemporar}','  you  can  say,  '  has  put  forth  many 
errors  and  false  arguments  ;  and  with  what  purpose?  to 
depreciate  a  fine  work,  to  deceive  the  public,  and  lead  to 
the  conclusion  that  a  book  that  is  selling  well  has  no  sale  ! 
Proh  pudor  ! '  That  honest  oath  will  arouse  the  reader. 
Enlarge  here  on  the  decadence  of  criticism.  And  then 
wind  up  with  a  dictum  :  '  There  is  but  one  literature  in 
the  present  day,  —  that  of  amusing  books.  Nathan  has 
struck  out  a  new  vein  ;  he  understands  his  epoch  and 
supplies  its  needs.  The  need  of  this  epoch  is  dramatic 
work.  Drama  is  the  longing  of  a  centurj'  in  which 
politics  have  been  a  perpetual  pantomime.  Have  n't 
we  seen  in  twenty  years,'  you  can  say,  'the  Revolution, 
the  Directory,  the  Empire,  the  Restoration?'  Besides 
this  article  you  can  put  something  into  Finot's  weekly 
paper  next  Saturday,  signed  De  Rubempre  in  big 
letters.  Only,  in  this  last  article  you  must  sa}' : 
'  It  is  the  mission  of  great  works  to  arouse  discussion. 
This  week  such  a  journal  has  said  thus  and  so  about 
Monsieur  Nathan's  book  and  such  another  has  vigor- 
ously* refuted  its  attack.'     You  criticise  both  critics,  C. 

19 


290     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

and  L.,  and  you  give  me  a  little  compliment,  in  passing, 
on  my  article  in  the  '  Debats '  when  the  book  first 
came  out ;  after  that  you  end  b}'  declaring  that  Nathan's 
work  is  the  finest  of  our  epoch.  Thus  you  '11  have 
made  four  hundred  francs  out  of  your  week,  besides  the 
satisfaction  of  having  written  a  good  deal  of  truth  on 
both  sides.  Intelhgent  readers  will  agree  with  C.  or 
with  L.  or  with  Rubempre,  —  perhaps  with  all  three. 
Mythology,  which  is  certainly  one  of  the  greatest  of 
human  inventions,  puts  Truth  at  the  bottom  of  a  well ; 
consequently  buckets  are  necessary  to  draw  it  up,  and 
you  've  provided  the  public  with  three  !  There  30U  are, 
m}^  boy  ;  now,  march  !  " 

Lucien  was  bewildered.  Blondet  kissed  him  on  both 
cheeks,  remarking :   "  Now  I  must  go  to  m}'  shop.*' 

They  all  went  oflf  to  their  various  "  shops."  To  these 
hommes  forts  their  newspaper  was  onl}^  a  shop.  They 
were  to  meet  again  that  evening  in  the  Galeries  de  Bois, 
where  Lucien  was  to  sign  his  agreement  with  Dauriat. 
Florine  and  Lousteau,  Lucien  and  Corahe,  Blondet  and 
Finot,  were  engaged  to  dine  in  the  Palais-Royal  with 
Du  Bruel. 

"  The}^  are  right,"  cried  Lucien,  when  he  was  alone 
with  Coralie.  "  Men  ought  to  be  strong  enough  to  use 
all  means  to  their  ends.  Four  hundred  francs  for  three 
articles  !  Doguereau  would  scarcel}'  give  me  that  for 
a  book  which  cost  me  two  years  of  hard  work." 

"  Write  criticisms  and  get  3'our  fun  out  of  it,"  said 
Coralie,  "and  never  mind  the  rest.  Don't  I  dress  as  an 
Andalusian  to-night,  and  a  Bohemian  to-morrow,  and  a 
man  the  next  da}'  ?  Do  as  I  do  ;  bow  and  scrape  for 
their  money,  and  let 's  live  happy." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    291 

Lncien,  a  lover  of  paradox,  set  his  wit  astride  of  that 
capricious  mnle,  the  son  of  Pegasus  and  Balaam's  ass. 
He  galloped  over  the  fields  of  thought  as  he  drove 
through  the  Bois  with  Coralie,  and  discovered  new  and 
orisiinal  beauties  in  Blondet's  theme.  He  dined  as  the 
happy  dine ;  he  signed  his  treaty  with  Dauriat,  b}' 
which  he  3ielded  all  rights  in  tlie  "Daisies,"  and  saw 
no  danger  in  doing  so ;  then  he  made  a  trip  to  the 
office,  scribbled  off  two  columns,  and  returned  to  the 
rue  de  Vendome.  The  next  morning  he  found  that  the 
ideas  of  the  night  before  had  germinated  in  his  head, 
as  it  always  happens  with  young  minds  full  of  sap,  when 
their  faculties  have  been  but  little  used.  Lucien  en- 
joyed the  pleasure  of  thinking  over  his  article,  and  he 
gave  himself  up  to  it  with  ardor.  As  he  wrote,  thoughts 
arose  which  gave  birth  to  contradictions.  He  was  witty 
and  satirical ;  he  even  rose  to  some  original  conceptions 
about  sentiment  and  reality  in  literature.  In  order  to 
praise  the  book,  he  called  up  his  earliest  impressions  of 
Nathan's  work  as  he  had  read  it  in  Blosse's  reading- 
room.  Ingenious  and  subtle,  he  slid  from  the  former 
savage  and  bitter  criticism  of  a  satirist  into  the  senti- 
ments of  a  poet,  ending  his  article  with  a  few  final 
phrases  swung  majesticall}',  like  an  urn  of  incense  wav- 
ing its  fragrance  towards  an  altar. 

"A  hundred  francs,  Coralie ! "  he  cried,  showing 
her  the  eight  sheets  of  paper  written  while  she  was 
dressing. 

Being  much  in  the  vein,  he  wrote  with  hasty  pen  the 
terrible  article  he  had  mentioned  to  Blondet  against  du 
Chatelet  and  Madame  de  Bargeton.  He  tasted  during 
this  morning  one  of  the  keenest  personal  pleasures  of  a 


292     Qreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

journalist,  —  that  of  pointing  an  epigram,  polishing  the 
cold  steel  which  is  to  sheath  itself  in  the  heart  of  a 
victim,  and  carving  the  handle  to  please  the  readers. 
The  public  admires  the  careful  workmanship ;  it  takes 
no  thought  of  the  malice  ;  it  is  ignorant  that  the  blade 
of  a  saying  sharpened  by  vengeance  will  rankle  in  the 
self-love  of  a  mind  stabbed  knowingl}'  in  its  tenderest 
place.  That  horrible  pleasure,  essentially  solitary  and 
savage,  enjoxed  without  witnesses,  is  like  a  duel  with 
an  absent  adversar}'',  who  is  killed  from  a  distance  by  a 
crow-quill,  as  if  the  journalist  had  reall}'  the  fantastic 
power  granted  to  the  possessor  of  a  talisman  in  Eastern 
tales.  Epigram  is  the  essence  of  hatred,  of  hatred  de- 
rived from  all  the  worst  passions  of  mankind,  just  as 
love  is  the  concentration  of  all  its  virtues.  Hence,  all 
writers  are  witt}'  when  the}'  avenge  themselves,  for  the 
reason  that  there  are  none  who  do  not  find  enjoyment 
in  it.  In  spite  of  the  facility  and  commonness  of  this 
faculty  in  France,  ever}'  exhibition  of  it  is  alwa3's  wel- 
comed. Lucien's  article  was  calculated  to  put,  and  did 
actual!}'  put,  his  reputation  for  malignant  sarcasm  high. 
It  went  to  the  depths  of  two  hearts :  it  grievously 
wounded  Madame  de  Bargeton,  his  ex-Laure,  and  the 
Baron  du  Chatelet,  his  rival. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  and  drive  in  the  Bois,"  said  Cora- 
lie.  "  The  horses  are  harnessed  ;  I  hear  them  pawing  ; 
you  must  n't  kill  yourself." 

"  Let  us  take  the  article  on  Nathan  to  Hector's  office. 
I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Lucien  ;  "  a  newspaper  is 
like  Achilles'  lance,  which  cures  the  wounds  it  makes." 

The  lovers  started,  and  showed  themselves  in  all 
their  splendor  to  the  eyes  of  that  Paris  which  had  so 


Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    293 

lately  rejected  Liicien,  who  was  now  beginning  to  oc- 
cupy its  mind.  To  occup^^  the  mind  of  Paris  after  we 
have  once  understood  its  vastness  and  the  difficult}'  of 
becoming  anything  whatever  in  the  great  city  is  enough 
to  turn  the  head  of  any  man  with  intoxicating  enjoy- 
ment, and  it  now  turned  Lucien's. 

"Dear,"  said  the  actress,  "we  will  drive  round  to 
the  tailor's  and  hurry  your  clothes  ;  you  might  try  them 
on  if  they  are  read}'.  If  you  are  going  among  your  fine 
ladies,  I  am  determined  you  shall  outdo  that  monster 
de  Marsay  and  little  Rastignac,  and  those  Ajuda-Pintos 
and  Maxime  de  Trailles,  and  Yandenesses,  and  all  the 
other  dandies.  Remember  that  Coralie  is  your  mis- 
tress ;  but  you  won't  play  me  any  tricks,  will  you  ?  " 


294     Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


XVIII. 

POWER    AND    SERVITUDE    OF    JOURNALISTS. 

Two  days  later,  —  that  is,  on  the  evening  before  the 
supper  wliich  Coralie  and  Lucien  were  to  give  to  their 
friends, — the  Anabigu-Comique  produced  a  new  play,  of 
which  it  was  Lucien's  business  to  render  an  account. 
After  their  dinner,  Lucien  and  Coralie  went  on  foot 
from  the  rue  de  Vendome  to  the  Panorama-Dramatique 
by  the  Boulevard-du-Temple  and  past  the  cafe  Turc, 
which  in  those  daj's  was  a  favorite  promenade.  Lucien 
heard  his  luck  and  Coralie's  beauty  commented  on. 
Some  said  Coralie  was  the  handsomest  woman  in 
Paris ;  others  declared  that  Lucien  was  worthy  of  her. 
The  poet  felt  in  his  element.  This  life  was  his  true 
life.  The  brotherhood  were  far  out  of  sight;  those 
great  souls  he  had  so  much  admired  two  months  earlier 
now  seemed,  when  he  thought  of  them,  to  be  almost 
sill}',  with  their  notions  and  their  Puritanism.  The  word 
"  simpleton,"  so  heedlessly  uttered  by  Coralie,  had  ger- 
minated in  Lucien's  mind,  and  was  already  bearing 
fruit.  He  put  Coralie  into  her  dressing-room,  and 
sauntered  with  the  air  of  a  sultan  behind  the  scenes, 
where  all  the  actresses  welcomed  him  with  ardent 
glances  and  flattering  words.  ^ 

"  I  must  go  to  the  Ambigu  and  attend  to  my  busi- 
ness," he  said. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    295 

"When  he  reached  the  Ambigu  the  house  was  full ; 
there  was  not  a  single  place  for  him.  Lucien  went  be- 
hind the  scenes  and  complained  bitterlj^  The  sub- 
manager,  who  did  not  3^et  know  him,  told  him  the}^  had 
sent  two  boxes  to  his  paper,  and  that  was  all  the}' 
could  do. 

' '  I  shall  speak  of  the  pla}^  according  to  what  I  see  of 
it,"  said  Lucien,  angril3\ 

"  How  stupid  30U  are  !"  said  an  actress  to  the  sub- 
manager  ;   "  that  is  Coralie's  lover." 

The  sub-manager  at  once  turned  to  Lucien  and  said : 
*'  Monsieur,  I  will  speak  to  tlie  director." 

Thus  the  smallest  matters  onlj^  proved  to  Lucien  the 
immensity  of  the  power  of  the  newspaper  press,  and 
encouraged  his  vanitj'.  The  director  came  and  obtained 
permission  from  the  Due  de  Rhetore  and  Tullia,  who 
were  in  a  proscenium  box,  to  put  a  gentleman  with 
them.  The  duke  readil}'  consented  as  soon  as  he  knew 
it  was  Lucien. 

"  You  have  reduced  two  persons  to  a  state  of 
miser}',"  said  the  duke.  "  I  mean  the  Baron  du 
Chatelet  and  Madame  de  Bargeton." 

"  What  will  become  of  them  to-morrow,  then?  "  said 
Lucien.  "Until  now  my  friends  have  only  skirmished 
about  them,  but  I,  myself,  have  fired  a  red-hot  cannon- 
ball  to-night.  To-morrow  3'ou  will  understand  wh}'  we 
have  ridiculed  Potelet.  The  article  is  entitled  '  Potelet 
in  1811  to  Potelet  in  1821.'  Chatelet  is  the  type  of 
men  who  renounce  their  benefactors  and  rail}'  to  the 
Bourbons.  After  I  have  made  m3^self  more  felt  I  shall 
go  to  Madame  de  Montcornet's." 

Lucien  then  began  a   livety  conversation  with  the 


296     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

young  duke,  brimming  over  with  wit ;  he  was  anxious 
to  prove  to  this  great  seigneur  how  grossly  Mesdames 
d'Espard'  and  de  Bargeton  were  mistaken  in  despising 
him  ;  but  he  gave  himself  awa}^  a  little  by  trying  to 
establish  his  right  to  the  name  of  de  Rubempre  when 
the  Due  de  Rhetore  maliciously  called  him  Chardon. 

"  You  ought,"  said  the  duke,  '^  to  become  a  royalist. 
You  have  show^n  yourself  a  man  of  brilliant  wit ;  now  be 
a  man  of  sound  good  sense.  The  only  way  to  obtain  a 
decree  from  the  king  which  will  restore  to  you  the  name 
and  title  of  your  maternal  ancestors  is  to  ask  it  as  a 
reward  for  services  actually  done  b}'  you  to  the  Chateau. 
The  liberals  will  never  make  you  a  count.  I  assure  you 
the  Restoration  will  end  by  getting  the  better  of  the 
press,  —  the  only  power  it  has  to  fear.  It  ought  to  have 
been  muzzled  earlier ;  but  it  will  be  soon.  Make  the 
most  of  its  last  days  of  freedom  to  get  yourself  feared. 
Before  long  a  name  and  title  will  have  more  power  and 
influence  in  France  than  talent.  If  you  are  wise  now, 
you  can  have  all,  —  mind,  nobiht}',  beauty,  and  your 
future  secured.  Don't  remain  a  hberal  one  moment 
longer  than  is  necessary  to  make  good  terms  with 
royalism." 

The  duke  asked  Lucien  to  accept  an  invitation  to 
dinner  which  the  German  minister,  whom  he  had  met  at 
Florine's,  intended  to  send  him.  Lucien  was  instantly 
won  over  by  the  duke's  arguments  and  charmed  to  per- 
ceive that  the  doors  of  salons  from  which  he  had  felt 
himself  forever  banished  might  still  open  to  him.  He 
admired  the  power  of  thought.  The  Press  and  intellect 
were  really  the  means  which  moved  society.  It  dawned 
on  Lucien's  mind  that  Lousteau  might  some  day  repent 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    297 

having  opened  to  him  the  gates  of  tlie  temple ;  he  him- 
self could  see  the  necessity  of  opposing  barriers  to  the 
ambitions  which  led  men  from  the  provinces  to  Paris. 
He  asked  himself  what  greeting  he  would  now  give  to 
a  poet  who  should  fling  himself  into  his  arms  as  he  had 
done  into  Lousteau's. 

The  3'oung  duke  watched  the  signs  of  Lucien's  medi- 
tation, and  was  not  mistaken  as  to  the  cause  of  it ;  he 
had  revealed  to  that  ambitious  mind,  a  mind  without 
fixed  will  but  not  without  desire,  a  whole  political 
horizon  ;  just  as  the  journalists,  like  Satan  on  the  pin- 
nacle of  the  temple,  had  shown  him  the  literary  world 
and  its  riches  at  his  feet.  Lucien  could  not  know  that 
a  little  conspiracy  existed  against  him  among  those 
great  people  whom  he  was  then  wounding  in  the  news- 
papers, and  that  the  Due  de  Rhetore  was  concerned  in 
it.  The  3'oung  duke  had  alarmed  the  society  in  which 
Madame  de  Bargeton  moved  b}"  an  account  of  Lucien's 
cleverness  and  success  among  journalists.  He  was 
asked  b}^  Madame  de  Bargeton  to  sound  Lucien  and 
was  hoping  to  meet  him  that  evening,  as  he  did,  at  the 
Ambigu-Comique.  Neither  society  nor  journalists  were 
profound ;  they  were  not  concerned  with  deep-laid 
plans  ;  in  fact  they  had  no  plans  at  all ;  their  Machia- 
velianism  extended  onl}',  so  to  speak,  from  da}-  to  da}', 
and  consisted  merely  in  being  ready  for  an3'thing,  ready 
to  profit  by  evil  as  well  as  good.  The  young  duke  had 
perceived  at  Florine's  supper  Lucien's  main  character- 
istics ;  he  now  caught  him  by  his  vanities,  and  made  his 
first  essa}'  in  diplomacy  b}^  tempting  him. 

When  the  piece  was  over  Lucien  rushed  to  the  rue 
Saint-Fiacre  to  write  his  article  upon  it.     He  made  it, 


298     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

intentionally,  harsh  and  cutting ;  and  took  pleasure  in 
thus  trying  his  power.  The  melodrama  was  better  than 
that  of  the  Panorama-Dramatique  ;  but  he  wanted  to 
see  if  he  could,  as  he  had  been  told,  kill  a  good  pla}^ 
and  make  a  poor  one  successful.  The  next  day,  when 
breakfasting  with  Coralie,  he  unfolded  his  paper  and 
was  not  a  little  astonished  to  read,  after  the  article  on 
Madame  de  Bargeton  and  du  Chatelet,  his  criticism  on 
the  Ambigu  so  softened  durhig  the  night  that  although 
the  witt}'  analysis  was  retained,  a  favorable  instead  of 
an  unfavorable  verdict  came  out  of  it.  The  article  would 
evidentl}'  benefit  the  receipts  of  the  theatre.  His  wrath 
was  indescribable,  and  he  determined,  as  he  said,  to  sa}' 
two  words  to  Lousteau.  He  felt  he  was  already  a 
necessar}^  person,  and  he  vowed  not  to  let  himself  be 
ruled  and  managed  like  a  nobody.  To  establish  his 
power  once  for  all,  he  wrote  the  article  in  which  he 
summed  up  and  balanced  all  the  opinions  put  forth  on 
Nathan's  book,  signed  it  with  his  name,  and  sent  it  to 
Dauriat  and  Finot's  weekly  journal.  Then,  as  he  felt 
his  hand  was  in,  he  wrote  another  of  his  ''  varietj'  " 
articles  for  Lousteau's  paper.  During  their  first  effer- 
vescence 3^oung  journalists  dash  off  articles  with  actual 
love  for  the  work,  and  give  awa}^,  imprudently,  all  their 
flowers- 

The  next  evening  the  manager  of  the  Panorama- 
Dramatique  gave  the  first  representation  of  a  vaudeville, 
so  as  to  leave  Coralie  and  Florine  free.  After  supper 
cards  were  to  be  pla^-ed.  Lousteau  came  for  Lucien's 
article  on  the  vaudeville,  which  was  written  in  advance, 
Lucien  having  seen  the  rehearsal  of  it,  so  that  there  might 
be  no  anxiety  as  to  the  make-up  of  the  next  daj^'s  paper. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    299 

After  Lucien  bad  read  him  his  charming  little  "variet}'" 
article  on  some  Parisian  peculiarit}'  (such  articles  made 
the  fortune  of  the  paper),  Lousteau  kissed  him  on  both 
ej'es,  and  called  him  a  journalistic  providence. 

"Then  wh}'  do  you  amuse  yourself  b}'  changing  the 
meaning  of  my  articles?"  demanded  Lucien,  who  had 
written  the  brilliant  article  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
give  additional  force  to  his  complaint. 

"  I?  "  exclaimed  Lousteau. 

"  If  3'ou  did  n't,  who  did  change  my  article  ?  " 

"  M}^  dear  fellow,"  said  Lousteau,  laughing,  "3'ou 
are  not  yet  posted  in  the  business  !  The  Ambigu  takes 
twent}'  subscriptions,  of  which  only  nine  are  served,  — 
to  the  manager,  the  leader  of  the  orchestra,  the  sub- 
manager,  the  mistresses  of  all  of  them,  and  the  three 
proprietors  of  the  theatre.  In  this  way  each  of  the 
three  boulevard  theatres  pays  eight  hundred  francs  to 
the  paper.  There  is  as  much  more  to  be  got  out  of  the 
boxes  the}'  give  to  Finot,  without  counting  the  subscrip- 
tions of  actors  and  authors.  That  scoundrel  Finot 
makes  at  least  eight  thousand  francs  a  year  out  of 
the  boulevard  theatres  alone.  You  can  judge  by  the 
little  theatres  what  he  makes  out  of  the  great  ones. 
Now,  don't  3'ou  understand?  we  are  expected  to  be 
indulgent." 

"  I  understand  that  I  am  not  free  to  write  what  I 
think." 

"Pooh!  what  matter,  if  3'our  nest  is  feathered?" 
cried  Lousteau.  "  What  grievance  have  j^ou  got  against 
the  theatre  ?  You  must  have  some  reason  for  murder- 
ing that  pla3\  Murdering  for  murder's  sake  injures  the 
paper.     When  a  journal  strikes  a  blow  for  justice  only 


300     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

it  produces  no  effect.  Come,  what  was  it?  Did  the 
manager  neglect  you?" 

"  He  did  not  keep  a  seat  for  me." 

"  Ver}^  good  !  "  said  Lousteau.  "I'll  show  him  3'our 
article,  and  tell  him  how  I  softened  it ;  3'ou  '11  find  3'our- 
self  better  off  than  if  it  had  appeared  as  written.  Ask 
him  to-morrow  for  j-our  tickets ;  he  '11  sign  3'ou  forty 
blanks  a  month,  and  I'll  take  you  to  a  man  with  whom 
you  can  arrange  to  sell  them.  He  '11  bu}^  them  all 
at  fift3'  per  cent  discount  on  the  theatre  price.  We  do 
the  same  trade  with  tickets  that  we  do  with  books. 
The  man  is  another  Barbet ;  he  is  the  head  of  the 
claque.  His  house  is  not  far  from  here  ;  let  us  go  there 
now  ;  there 's  time  enough." 

"  But,  my  dear  Lousteau,  Finot  is  doing  an  infamous 
business  in  levying  such  indirect  taxes  on  thought. 
Sooner  or  later  —  " 

"  Bless  me  !  where  do  3'ou  come  from?"  cried  Lous- 
teau, interrupting  him.  "For  whom  and  what  do  3"0u 
take  Finot?  Beneath  his  false  good-humor,  beneath 
that  Turcaret  air  of  his,  beneath  his  ignorance  and  his 
stolidity,  he  has  all  the  shrewdness  of  the  hatter  from 
w4iom  he  was  born.  Did  n't  3'ou  see  in  that  office  of  his 
an  old  soldier  of  the  Empire  ?  That 's  his  uncle  ;  and 
the  uncle  is  not  onl3^  an  honest  man,  but  he  has  the  luck 
to  pass  for  a  fool.  He  is  the  scapegoat  in  all  pecuniary 
transactions.  In  Paris  an  ambitious  man  is  rich  if  he 
has  beside  him  and  devoted  to  him  a  henchman  who  is 
willing  to  be  a  scapegoat.  In  journalism  as  well  as 
in  politics  there  are  a  multitude  of  cases  in  which  the 
leaders  must  never  appear.  If  Finot  ever  becomes  a 
political  personage  his  uncle  will  be  his  secretar3%  and 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       301 

will  receive  for  him  the  contributions  levied  in  the  pub- 
lic offices  on  any  important  matter.  Giroudeau,  whom 
you  'd  take  at  first  sight  for  a  fool,  has  preciselj^  the  sly 
shrewdness  which  makes  him  an  unfathomable  ally.  He 
is  always  on  duty  ;  he  prevents  us  from  being  tormented 
and  overwhelmed  by  clamors,  protests,  jealousies,  ap- 
peals. I  don't  believe  there  's  his  like  on  an}'  other 
paper." 

^  He  plan's  his  part  well,"  said  Lucien  ;  "  I've  seen 
him  at  work." 

Etienne  and  Lucien  went  to  the  rue  du  Faubourg-du- 
Temple,  where  the  editor-in-chief  stopped  before  a  fine- 
looking  house. 

"Is  Monsieur  Braulard  at  home?"  he  asked  the 
porter. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Lucien,  "  do  you  call  the  chief 
of  the  claqueurs  monsieur?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  Braulard  has  property  worth  twenty 
thousand  francs  a  year  ;  he  has  all  the  dramatic  authors 
of  the  boulevard  in  his  clutches  ;  they  have  an  account 
with  him  as  if  he  were  a  banker.  Authors'  tickets  and 
complimentary  tickets  are  sold,  and  Braulard  sells  them. 
Try  statistics  (a  very  useful  science  if  not  abused): 
fifty  complimentary  tickets  every  night  from  each  of 
the  boulevard  theatres  make  two  hundred  and  fifty 
tickets  daily ;  they  are  worth,  sa}'',  forty  sous  apiece ; 
Braulard  pa3's  one  hundred  and  twent3'-five  francs  to 
the  authors,  and  runs  his  chance  of  getting  as  much 
more.  Thus,  you  see,  authors'  tickets  alone  bring  him 
in  four  thousand  francs  a  month,  —  a  total  of  forty- 
eight  thousand  a  year.  But  let  us  suppose  a  loss  of 
half,  for  he  can't  alwa3's  sell  his  tickets." 


802     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  persons  who  pa}'  for  their  seats  at  the  box- 
offices  have  as  much  right  as  those  who  hold  the  com- 
phmentar}'  tickets,  which  are  never  for  reserved  places  ; 
and  the  theatre  keeps  all  its  choice  places.  Then 
there  's  fine  weather  and  bad  weather.  But  sa}'  that 
Braulard  earns  about  tliirt}'  thousand  francs  under  that 
head.  Then  he  has  his  claqueurs ;  that's  another  in- 
dustrj'.  Florine  and  Coralie  pa}'  tribute  to  him  ;  if  they 
did  n't  they  would  n't  be  applauded  at  their  entrances 
and  exits." 

Lousteau  gave  these  explanations  in  a  low  voice  as 
they  went  up  the  stairs. 

"  Paris  is  a  queer  world,"  said  Lucien,  finding  greed 
and  self-interest  squatting  in  every  corner. 

A  neat  servant-woman  ushered  the  two  journalists 
into  Monsieur  Braulard's  room.  The  ticket-dealer,  who 
was  seated  in  an  office  chair  before  a  large  roller-desk, 
rose  when  he  saw  Lousteau.  He  was  wrapped  in  a 
gray  camlet  dressing-gown,  with  trousers  a  pied  and 
red  slippers,  exactly  like  a  physician  or  a  lawyer.  Lu- 
cien saw  at  once  that  he  was  a  specimen  of  the  rich 
self-made  man  of  the  people,  —  common  in  feature,  with 
shrewd  gray  eyes;  the  hands  of  a  clapper;  a  complexion 
over  which  debauches  had  passed  like  rain  on  a  roof; 
grizzly  hair,  and  a  rather  thick  voice. 

"  You  have  come,  of  course,  for  Mademoiselle  Flo- 
rine, and  your  friend  for  Mademoiselle  Coralie,"  he 
said.  "  I  know  you  very  well,  monsieur,"  he  went  on, 
addressing  Lucien.  '*  Don't  be  uneasy.  I  have  bought 
the  business  at  the  Gymnase.  I  '11  look  after  your  mis- 
tress and  warn  her  if  there  's  any  cabal  against  her." 


Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    303 

*'  That 's  not  to  be  refused,  m}'  dear  Braulard,"  said 
Lousteau.  "But  we  have  come  about  our  newspaper 
tickets  at  the  boulevard  theatres,  —  I  as  editor-in- 
chief,  and  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  as  reporter  at  each 
theatre." 

"  Ah,  3-es  !  I  heard  that  Finot  had  sold  the  paper. 
In  fact,  I  knew  all  about  the  affair.  He  's  getting  on, 
Finot  is.  I  give  a  dinner  for  him  at  the  end  of  the 
week,  and  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  3'ou  will  do  me  the 
honor  and  pleasure  of  being  present  with  your  spouses. 
There  '11  be  plent}'  of  fun  and  racket.  We  shall  have 
Adele  Dupuis,  Ducange,  Frederic  Du  Petit-Mere,  and 
Mademoiselle  Millot,  m}'  mistress.  We'll  laugh  much, 
and  drink  more." 

"  I  hear  Ducange  has  lost  his  suit ;  he  must  be 
hard-up." 

"  I  've  lent  him  ten  thousand  francs ;  the  success  of 
his  '  Calas '  will  pay  me  back ;  I  'm  warming  it  up ! 
Ducange  is  a  clever  fellow ;  he  has  got  it  in  him." 
(Lucien  thouglit  he  was  dreaming  when  he  heard  a 
man  of  this  stamp  weighing  the  talents  of  authors.) 
"  Coralie  has  greath'  improved,"  continued  Braulard, 
addressing  him  with  the  air  of  a  competent  judge.  "If 
she 's  a  good  girl  I  '11  support  her  secretl v  when  the}' 
get  up  their  cabal  against  her,  as  they  are  sure  to  do, 
on  her  first  appearance  at  the  G3mnase.  Listen:  I'll 
put  a  number  of  men  in  the  galleries  to  smile  at  her 
and  give  little  murmurs  of  satisfaction,  which  always 
start  applause.  That 's  a  trick  which  fixes  attention  on 
an  actress.  I  like  Coralie  ;  she  pleases  me  ;  yon  ought 
to  be  satisfied  with  her  ;  she  has  feelings.  Ha !  I  can 
make  any  one  fail  I  please  !  " 


304       Great  Man  of  the  Provmces  in  Paris. 

"  But  let  us  settle  this  business  of  the  tickets  first," 
said  Lousteau. 

"  Veiy  good  !  I  '11  go  to  monsieur's  house  and  get 
them  eveiy  month.  He  is  a  friend  of  3'ours,  and  I  '11 
treat  him  as  I  do  you.  You  sa}'  you  have  five  theatres, 
monsieur  ;  they  '11  give  you  thirt3'  tickets  ;  that  will  be 
something  like  sevent3'-five  francs  a  month.  Do  3'ou 
want  an  advance  ? "  said  the  ticket-dealer,  turning  to 
his  desk  and  taking  out  a  pile  of  money. 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Lousteau  ;  "  we  '11  keep  this  resource 
for  a  rain}'  day." 

"Monsieur,"  continued  Braulard,  addressing  Lucien, 
"I'll  go  round  to  Coralie  in  a  day  or  two  and  settle 
about  the  rest." 

Lucien  had  been  looking,  not  without  surprise,  at 
Braulard's  office ;  in  it  were  books,  engravings,  and 
suitable  furniture.  As  thej'  passed  out  through  the 
salon  he  saw  that  everything  was  well  chosen,  —  neither 
mean  nor  tawdry  nor  too  luxurious.  The  dining-room 
seemed  to  be  the  most  ornate  of  the  rooms,  and  he  re- 
marked upon  it. 

"Braulard  is  gastronomical,"  said  Lousteau,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  his  dinners,  famous  in  dramatic  literature,  are  in 
keeping  with  his  funds." 

"  I  have  good  wines,"  said  Braulard  modestly.  "Ah  ! 
here  are  my  hands  !  "  he  cried,  hearing  gruff  voices  and 
shuffling  steps  on  the  staircase. 

As  Lucien  and  Lousteau  passed  out,  they  met  the 
evil-smelling  brigade  of  claqueurs  and  street  ticket- 
sellers,  —  fellows  in  caps,  ragged  trousers,  and  thread- 
bare coats ;  with  hangdog  faces,  bluish,  greenish, 
bloated,  wizened,  long  beards,  and  e3'es  both  wheedling 


Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    305 

and  savage,  —  a  horrible  population  which  lives  and 
swarms  on  the  boulevards  of  Paris ;  selling  in  the 
morning  trinkets  and  chains  and  such  things  for 
twentj'-five  sous  apiece,  and  appearing  at  night  under 
the  chandeliers  to  ply  their  other  trade  of  clapping  to 
order,  —  a  population  which  adapts  itself  to  all  the  miry 
needs  of  Paris. 

"These  are  the  Romans  who  applaud  Nero!"  said 
Lousteau,  laughing;  "  the}'  make  the  fame  of  dramatic 
authors  and  actresses  !  Seen  at  close  quarters,  that 
fame  doesn't  seem  much  better  than  ours,  does  it?" 

"It  is  difficult  to  have  any  illusions  about  anything 
in  Paris,"  replied  Lucien.  "All  is  taxed,  sold,  coined, 
—  even  success !  " 

The  guests  at  Lucien's  supper  were  Dauriat,  the 
manager  of  the  Panorama,  Matifat  and  Florine,  Camu- 
sot,  Lousteau,  Finot,  Nathan,  Hector  Merlin  and  Ma- 
dame du  Yal-Noble,  Felicien  Vernou,  Blondet,  Vignon, 
Philippe  Bridau  and  Mariette,  Giroudeau,  Cardot  and 
Florentine,  and  Bixiou.  He  had  invited  his  friends  of 
the  brotherhood.  Tullia,  the  danseuse,  who  was  said 
to  favor  Du  Bruel,  was  also  of  the  part}',  but  without 
her  duke ;  also  the  proprietors  of  the  newspapers  on 
which  Nathan,  Vignon,  Merlin,  and  Vernou  were  em- 
ployed. Altogether  there  were  thirty  guests,  Coralie's 
dining-room  not  being  large  enough  to  hold  more. 

Towards  eight  o'clock,  when  the  chandeliers  were 
lighted,  and  the  furniture,  hangings,  and  flowers  all 
wore  the  festal  air  which  gives  to  Parisian  luxury  the 
atmosphere  of  a  dream,  Lucien  was  conscious  of  an 
indefinable  sense  of  happiness,  of  gratified  vanity  and 
hope,  as  he  saw  himself  master  of  this  dazzhng  scene  ; 

20 


306     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

but  he  never  once  asked  himself  b}-  what  means  nor  by 
whose  hand  this  faivy  wand  had  touched  him.  Florine 
and  Corahe,  dressed  with  all  the  excessive  luxury  and 
artistic  magnifice.-ice  of  actresses,  smiled  on  the  poet  of 
the  provinces  like  two  angels  sent  to  open  for  him  the 
gates  of  the  Paradise  of  Dreams.  He  was  dreaming 
now.  In  a  few  short  months  his  life  had  so  utterly 
changed,  he  had  passed  so  rapidly  from  the  extreme  of 
misery  to  the  extreme  of  opulence  that  momentary 
doubts  did  come  to  him,  as  tlie}-  do  to  sleepers  who 
while  dreaming  know  themselves  asleep.  Nevertheless, 
his  eyes,  open  to  all  this  beautiful  realit}^  expressed  a 
confidence  in  his  position  which  env}'  would  have  called 
fatuit3\  He  himself  had  changed.  His  healthy  color 
had  paled  ;  a  look  of  langour  was  in  the  moist  expres- 
sion of  his  e3'es ;  but  his  beaut}'  gained  by  it.  The 
consciousness  of  power  and  his  own  strength  shone 
from  a  face  now  enlightened  bj'  love  and  experience. 
He  had  come  front  to  front  with  the  literar}'  world  and 
societj',  and  he  believed  he  could  walk  through  both  a 
conqueror.  To  this  poet,  who  never  reflected  until  the 
burden  of  misfortune  was  upon  him,  the  present  seemed 
to  be  without  a  care.  Success  had  filled  the  sails  of  his 
bark ;  at  his  orders  lav  the  instruments  he  needed  for 
his  projects,  —  a  fine  house,  a  mistress  for  whom  all 
Paris  envied  him,  a  carriage  and  horses,  and  an  incal- 
culable sum  of  mone}^  in  his  desk  !  His  soul,  his  heart, 
his  mind  were,  one  and  all,  metamorphosed  ;  he  thought 
no  more  of  doubting  methods  in  presence  of  such  glo- 
rious results. 

All  this  will  seem  so  plainh'  insecure  to  persons  of 
experience  who  know  Parisian  life  that  it  is  only  neces- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provhices  in  Paris.    307 

saiy  to  indicate  the  fragile  basis  on  which  the  material 
happiness  of  the  actress  and  her  poet  rested.  Without 
involving  himself  in  an}'  pa3'ment,  Camusot  had  re- 
quested the  tradesmen  who  supplied  Coralie  to  let  her 
have  all  she  wanted  on  credit  for  at  least  three  months. 
The  horses,  servants  and  household  went  on  as  if  bv 
enchantment  for  these  two  children  eager  for  enjoy- 
ment, and  who  did  enjoy  ever3'thing  to  the  full. 

Coralie  now  caught  Lucien  by  the  hand  and  led  him, 
alone,  before  the  compan}'  arrived,  into  the  festive 
scene  of  the  dining-room,  set  out  with  a  splendid  silver 
service,  candelabra  bearing  forty  wax-lights,  and  the 
regal  delicacies  of  a  dessert  arranged  by  Chevet.  Lu- 
cien kissed  Coralie  on  the  forehead  and  pressed  her  to 
his  heart. 

''  I  shall  succeed,  my  child,"  he  cried,  "  and  I  will 
reward  you  for  all  your  love  and  all  3'our  devotion." 
"  Pooh  !  "  she  said,  "  are  you  satisfied?" 
"  I  should  be  hard  to  please  if  I  were  not." 
"  That  smile  is  all  I  want,"  she  answered,  gliding  her 
lips  to  his  lips  with  a  serpent-like  motion. 

When  the}'  returned  to  the  salon  they  found  Florine, 
Lousteau,  Matifat,  and  Camusot,  arranging  the  card- 
tables.  Lucien's  friends  were  arriving,  —  for  all  these 
people  now  styled  themselves  his  friends.  They  played 
from  nine  o'clock  till  midnight.  Happily  for  him,  Lu- 
cien did  not  know  how  to  play  an}'  game  ;  but  Lousteau 
lost  a  thousand  francs  and  borrowed  them  of  Lucien, 
who  felt  himself  obliged  to  oblige  his  friend.  About  ten 
o'clock  Michel  Chrestien,  Fulgence  Ridal,  and  Joseph 
Bridau  arrived.  Lucien,  who  went  to  talk  with  them  in 
a  corner,  thought  they  looked  rather  cold   and  serious, 


308     Great  Man  of  tlie  Provinces  iii  Paris, 

not  to  sa}"  constrained.  D'Arthez  could  not  come ;  he 
was  just  finishing  his  book.  Leon  Giraud  was  busy 
with  the  first  number  of  his  review.  The  brotherhood 
had  sent  its  three  artists,  who,  the}'  thought,  would  seem 
less  out  of  their  element  than  the  rest  at  a  rollicking 
supper. 

"Well,  my  friends,"  said  Lucien,  assuming  a  little 
tone  of  superiorit}',  ''  you  '11  see  now  that  '  paltry  wit ' 
can  prove  good  polic3\" 

"  I  don't  ask  anything  better  than  to  be  mistaken," 
said  Chrestien. 

' '  Are  you  living  with  Coralie  till  you  can  do  bet- 
ter?" asked  Fulgence. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucien,  trying  to  look  unconscious. 
"  Coralie  had  a  poor  old  shopkeeper  who  was  fond  of 
her,  but  she  dismissed  him.  I  'm  better  off  than  your 
brother  Philippe,"  he  added,  looking  at  Joseph  Bridau  ; 
"  he  can't  manage  Mariette." 

"  In  short,"  said  Fulgence,  ''  you  are  now  a  man  like 
the  rest  of  them,  and  will  make  your  wa}." 

"  A  man  who  will  alwaj^s  be  the  same  toj'ou  in  what- 
ever position  he  may  be,"  replied  Lucien. 

Michel  and  Fulgence  looked  at  each  other,  exchang- 
ing smiles  which  Lucien  saw ;  and  he  saw,  too,  how 
ridiculous  that  speech  had  made  him. 

"  Coralie  is  adorably  beautiful ! "  cried  Joseph 
Bridau.    "  What  a  picture  could  be  made  of  her !  " 

"  And  she  is  good,"  said  Lucien.  "  I  tell  you  she  is 
angelic.  You  shall  paint  her  portrait ;  take  her,  if  3'ou 
like,  for  the  model  of  your  Venetian  brought  to  the 
senator  b}'  an  old  woman." 

"  All  women  who  love  are  angelic,"  said  Michel. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.        309 

Just  then  Raoul  Nathan  rushed  up  to  Lucien  in  a 
frenzy  of  friendship,  caught  his  hands  and  wrung 
them  :  — 

"  My  good  friend,"  he  cried,  '•  not  onl}-  are  you  a 
great  man,  but  you  have  a  heart,  which  is  much  more 
rare  in  these  days  than  genius.  You  are  faithful  to 
your  friends.  I  am  yours  for  hfe  and  death  ;  I  shall 
never  forget  what  you  have  done  for  me  this  week." 

Lucien,  at  the  summit  of  delight  in  finding  himself 
thus  adulated  by  a  man  whom  Fame  was  already 
crowning,  looked  at  his  three  friends  of  the  brother- 
hood with  a  fresh  air  of  superiority.  Nathan's  effusion 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  Merlin  had  shown  him  a  proof 
of  the  article  on  his  book  which  would  appear  the  next 
day. 

"  I  only  consented  to  write  the  attack  in  order  that  I 
might  reply  to  it,"  whispered  Lucien  in  Nathan's  ear ; 
"I  am  with  you  heartily." 

He  returned  to  his  friends,  delighted  with  a  circum- 
stance which  seemed  to  justify  the  speech  at  which  they 
had  smiled. 

"  I  am  now  in  a  position  to  be  useful  to  d'Arthez, 
when  his  book  comes  out,"  he  said.  "That  alone  is 
enough  to  keep  me  in  journalism." 

"  Are  you  free  in  it?  "  asked  Michel. 

"  As  free  as  a  man  can  be  when  he  is  indispensable," 
replied  Lucien. 

Towards  midnight  they  sat  down  to  table  and  the 
actual  festivities  began.  The  talk  was  much  freer  than 
it  had  l>een  at  Matifat's,  for  no  one  suspected  or  re- 
membered the  opposition  of  feeling  and  opinion  on  the 
part  of  the  three  members  of  the  brotherhood.     These 


310     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

yoLing  minds,  so  depraved  by  the  habit  of  writing  for 
and  against  both  things  and  men,  now  came  into  con- 
flict with  each  other,  flinging  to  and  fro  among  them 
the  terrible  maxims  of  moral  law  to  which  journalism 
was  then  giving  birth.  Claude  Vignon,  who  wished  to 
maintain  the  august  and  dignified  character  of  criti- 
cism, complained  of  the  tendenc}'  of  the  minor  papers 
towards  personalities,  and  declared  that  before  long- 
writers  would  bring  their  own  selves  into  disrepute. 
Lousteau,  Merlin,  and  Finot,  thereupon  openly  defended 
the  S3'stem,  called  in  journalistic  slang  blague^ —  a  word 
for  which  there  is  no  equivalent  in  any  other  language, 
meaning  a  combination  of  smartness,  humbug,  satire, 
vim,  gossip,  falsehood,  invention,  and  tlie  written 
"  gift  of  the  gab ;  "  this  the}-  maintained  was  a  touch- 
stone by  which  to  recognize  real  talent. 

"  Those  who  come  safe  out  of  that  trial  are  strong 
men,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Besides,"  said  Merlin,  "  ovations  to  great  men  need, 
like  the  Roman  triumphs,  a  chorus  of  insults." 

"  Ha !  "  said  Lucien,  "  all  those  who  are  attacked 
will  believe  in  their  triumph." 

"Are  you  thinking  of  number  one?  "  cried  Finot. 

'^  Yes,  3'our  sonnets  !  "  said  Michel  Chrestien,  —  "is 
that  how  the}'  are  to  reach  the  fame  of  Petrarch?" 

"  Faciamus  experimentum  in  anima  vili,^^  replied 
Lucien,  smiling. 

"  I'11-luck  to  those  whom  newspapers  do  not  discuss, 
and  on  whom  journalists  cast  no  garlands  at  their 
start.  They  '11  stay  like  saints  in  their  niches,  where  no 
one  pays  them  the  least  attention,"  said  Vernou. 

"  It  is  success  that  kills  in  France,"  said  Finot ;  "  we 


Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     311 

are  all  so  jealous  of  each  other  that  we  try  to  forget  and 
make  the  public  forget  the  other  man's  triumph." 

"  It  is  true  that  contention  is  the  life  of  literature," 
said  Claude  Vignon. 

"As  in  nature,  where  it  results  from  two  principles 
which  contend,"  cried  Fulgence  Ridal,  "  the  triumph  of 
the  one  over  the  other  is  death." 

"  And  the  same  in  politics,"  added  Michel  Chrestien. 

"We  have  just  proved  it,"  said  Lousteau.  "Dauriat 
will  sell  two  tliousand  copies  of  Xathan's  book  this 
week.  Why?  The  book  has  been  attacked,  and  is  well 
defended." 

"  An  article  like  this,"  said  Merlin,  taking  the  proof 
out  of  his  pocket,  "  is  certain  to  sell  a  whole  edition." 

"Read  it,"  said  Daariat.  "I'm  a  publisher  wher- 
ever I  am,  even  at  supper." 

Merlin  read  Lucien's  article  ;  ever}"  one  applauded. 

'•'  Could  that  article  have  been  written  without  the 
first  ?  "  asked  Lousteau. 

Dauriat  drew  from  his  pocket  a  proof  of  Lucien's 
third  article  and  read  it  aloud.  Finot  listened  atten- 
tively to  what  was  destined  for  the  second  number  of 
his  weekly  paper,  and,  in  his  quality  as  editor-in-chief, 
he  exaggerated  his  praise. 

"  If  Bossuet  had  lived  in  our  centur}',"  he  cried, 
"  could  he  have  written  better?  " 

"No,"  said  Merlin  ;  "  but  if  Bossuet  were  living  now 
he  'd  be  a  journalist." 

"To  Bossuet  the  Second!"  said  Claude  Vignon, 
lifting  his  glass  and  bowing  ironicallj'  to  Lucien. 

'•  To  my  Christopher  Columbus  !  "  said  Lucien,  bow- 
ing to  Dauriat. 


312     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paj-is. 

''  Bravo  !  "  cried  Nathan. 

"Is  it  a  surname?  "  said  Merlin  nialiciouslj^  with  a 
glance  at  Finot  and  Lucien. 

"  If  you  go  on  in  this  way,"  said  Dauriat,  "these 
gentlemen,"  with  a  sign  towards  Camusot  and  Matifat, 
"  cannot  follow  3'ou.  Wit  is  like  cotton,  —  if  you  spin 
it  too  fine  it  breaks  ;  so  said  Bonaparte." 

"At  any  rate,  gentlemen,"  said  Lousteau,  "we  our- 
selves are  the  witnesses  of  a  trul}'  surprising,  unheard- 
of  event  in  journalism,  —  I  mean  the  rapidit}'  with  which 
our  friend  here  has  been  transformed  from  a  provincial 
to  a  journalist." 

"He  was  born  a  newspaper  man,"  said  Dauriat. 

"  M}'  sons,"  said  Finot,  rising,  with  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne in  his  hand,  "  we  have  all  promoted  and  en- 
couraged the  start  of  our  young  Amphitrj'on,  and  he 
has,  T  may  sa}^  surpassed  our  expectations.  I  propose 
to  baptize  him  journalist  in  due  form." 

"  Crown  him  with  roses,  —  the  emblem  of  his  double 
conquest !  "  said  Bixiou,  with  a  bow  to  Coralie. 

Coralie  made  a  sign  to  Berenice,  who  fetched  a  quan- 
tity of  old  artifical  flowers  from  the  actress's  bedroom. 
A  wreath  of  roses  was  soon  made,  and  the  rest  of  the 
flowers  were  seized  and  grotesquely  put  on  by  those 
who  were  most  drunk,  while  Finot,  the  head-priest, 
poured  champagne  upon  the  handsome  blond  head  of 
the  poet,  and  pronounced  the  sacramental  words :  "  In 
the  name  of  Pen,  Ink,  and  Paper,  I  pronounce  thee 
journalist.     May  thy  articles  sit  easy  on  thee  ! " 

"  And  be  paid  without  deduction  of  blanks,"  added 
Merhn. 

At  this  moment  Lucien  saw  the   saddened   faces  of 


Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    313 

Michel  Chrestien,  Fulgence,  and  Joseph  Bridau,  who 
took  their  hats  and  left  the  room  amid  a  shower  of 
imprecations. 

"  Queer  Christians  !  "  said  Merlin. 

"  Fulgence  used  to  be  a  good  fellow,"  said  Lousteau, 
'but  they  have  perverted  his  moral  sense." 

"  Who  have  ?  "  asked  Claude  Vignon. 

"  A  lot  of  serious  3'oung  men  who  meet  in  a  philo- 
sophical-religious hole  in  the  rue  des  Quatre-Vents, 
where  the}"  bother  themselves  about  the  general  mean- 
ing of  humanit}',"  answered  Blondet. 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

"  The}^  are  trying  to  find  out  if  it  turns  in  a  circle  or 
is  making  progress,"  went  on  Blondet.  "  The}' have 
been  dreadfully  troubled  of  late  about  the  straight  line 
and  the  curved  line  ;  they  think  the  Biblical  triangle  a 
contradiction,  and  they  have  got  some  new  prophet,  I 
don't  know  who  he  is,  who  has  pronounced  in  favor  of 
the  spiral." 

"  Men  might  invent  far  more  dangerous  nonsense," 
cried  Lucien,  wishing  to  defend  the  brotherhood. 

"You  think  such  theories  nonsense,"  said  Felicien 
Vernou,  "  but  there  comes  a  time  when  they  are  trans- 
muted into  pistol-shots  and  guillotines." 

"They  have  n't  got  farther  as  yet,"  said  Bixiou, 
"  than  exploded  ideas,  and  picking  up  dead  men  like 
Vico,  Saint-Simon,  and  Fourier.  But  I'm  terribly 
afraid  they  '11  turn  my  poor  Joseph  Bridau's  head." 

"  They  have  led  my  old  coUege  friend  and  compatriot 
Horace  Bianchon  to  give  me  the  cold  shoulder,"  said 
Lousteau. 

"  Is  n't    their   visible   head   Daniel   d'Arthez,"   said 


314      Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Nathan,  "a  small  3^oung  fellow  whom  they  expect  to 
swallow  us  all  up  one  of  these  da3's?  " 

"  He  is  a  man  of  genius!  "  cried  Lucien. 

"  Not  worth  this  glass  of  sherry  to  me,"  said  Claude 
Vignon,  laughing. 

From  this  point  of  the  feast  each  man  began  to  un- 
bosom himself  to  his  neighbor.  When  clever  men 
arrive  at  this  point  and  give  up,  so  to  speak,  the  key  of 
their  hearts,  it  is  verv  certain  that  drunkenness  has 
them  in  hand.  An  hour  later  all  these  guests,  who  were 
now  the  best  friends  in  the  world,  told  each  other  the}" 
were  great  men,  strong  men,  men  to  wliom  the  future 
belonged.  Lucien,  as  master  of  the  revels,  had  retained 
a  certain  amount  of  lucidity  of  mind  ;  he  listened  to  all 
these  sophisms,  which  completed  the  work  of  his 
demoralization. 

"  M}^  children,"  said  Finot,  "  the  Liberal  press  must 
put  new  life  into  its  onslaughts ;  nothing  can  be  said 
just  now  against  the  government;  and  that's  a  bad 
look-out  for  the  Opposition.  Which  of  3'ou  will  under- 
take to  write  a  pamphlet  demanding  the  re-establish- 
ment of  the  laws  of  primogeniture?  That  will  give  us 
a  chance  to  declaim  against  the  secret  schemes  of  the 
court.     It  shall  be  well  paid." 

"I  will,"  said  Hector  Merlin;  "  those  are  mv  poli- 
tical opinions." 

"Your  part}' will  say  you  compromise  it.  No;  do 
you  write  the  pamphlet,  Vernou  ;  Dauriat  will  publish 
it;  we'll  all  keep  the  secret." 

"  What  will  3'ou  pay  for  it?"  asked  Vernou. 

"  Six  hundred  francs.     Sign  it  '  Comte  C .'  " 

"  Ver}'  good  !  "  said  Vernou. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    315 

"  That's  taking  the  canard  into  politics  with  a  ven- 
geance," said  Lousteau. 

"  It  is  onl}'  attributing  intentions  to  the  government, 
and  unchaining  pubhc  opinion  to  give  it  warning,"  said 
Finot. 

"Well,"  said  Claude  Vignon,  "I  shall  never  get 
over  my  astonishment  at  a  government  allowing  a  parcel 
of  scamps  like  us  to  direct  public  ideas  and  opinions." 

"  If  the  ministry  commits  the  foil}'  of  rising  to  that 
bait,  and  comes  down  into  the  arena,  we  can  march  it 
round  with  drums  beating ;  if  it  gets  angr}'  we  can  em- 
bitter the  question  and  get  the  populace  angry  too.  A 
newspaper  risks  nothing,  where  the  powers  that  be  haA^e 
everything  to  lose." 

"  France  is  a  cipher  until  the  day  when  journalism  is 
suppressed,"  continued  Claude  Vignon.  "You  are  en- 
croaching hour  by  hour,"  he  added,  addressing  Finot. 
"You  are  Jesuits,  without  their  faith,  their  fixed  pur^ 
pose,  their  discipline,  and  their  union." 

The  party  now  returned  to  the  card-tables  ;  the  lights 
of  dawn  soon  paled  the  candles. 

"  Your  friends  from  the  rue  des  Quatre- Vents  were 
as  gloomy  as  condemned  criminals,"  said  Coralie  to  her 
lover  the  next  day. 

"They  were  judges,  not  criminals,"  said  Lucien. 

"Pooh!  judges  are  much  more  amusing,"  responded 
Coralie. 


316     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


XIX. 

RE-ENTRANCE    INTO    THE    GREAT    WORLD. 

LuciEN  lived  for  a  month  with  his  time  entirel}'  taken 
up  by  suppers,  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  other  festivi- 
ties,—  carried  onward  b}'  the  resistless  current  of  pleas- 
ures and  eas}'  employments.  He  reflected  no  longer. 
The  power  of  reflection  in  the  midst  of  the  complica- 
tions of  life  is  the  unmistakable  sign  of  a  strong  will, 
which  poets,  or  feeble  natures,  or  purely  spiritual  minds, 
cannot  counterfeit.  Like  most  journalists,  Lucien  lived 
from  day  to  day,  spending  his  money  as  he  earned  it, 
paj'ing  no  heed  to  the  periodic  payment  of  his  ex- 
penses, —  that  crushing  necessity  of  these  Bohemian 
lives.  His  dress  and  its  accessories  rivalled  those  of 
the  greatest  dandies.  Coralie  delighted,  like  all  such 
fanatics,  in  adorning  her  idol.  She  ruined  herself  in 
giving  her  dear  poet  all  that  elegant  outfit  of  superflu- 
ities he  had  so  coveted  during  his  first  walk  in  the  Tiii- 
leries.  Lucien  now  had  wondrous  canes,  a  charming 
e3^eglass,  diamond  buttons,  clasps  for  his  morning  cra- 
vats, rings  a  la  chevaliere,  and  marvellous  waistcoats 
in  sufficient  number  to  enable  him  to  match  his  colors 
as  he  pleased.     He  was  a  full-blown  dand}'. 

The  day  on  which  he  accepted  an  invitation  from  the 
German  diplomatist  and  appeared  in  the  great  world, 
his  transformation  excited  a  sort  of  envy  among  the 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  iyi  Paris.    317 

young  men  who  were  present, — men  who  took  the 
right  of  the  road  in  the  kingdom  of  fashion ;  such 
as  de  Marsav,  Vandenesse,  Ajuda-Pinto,  Rastignac, 
Maxime  de  Trailles,  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse,  Beau- 
denord,  Manerville,  etc.  Men  in  fashionable  life  are 
jealous  of  each  other  with  the  jealousy  of  women. 

The  Comtesse  de  Montcornet  and  the  Marquise 
d'P2spard,  for  whom  the  dinner  was  given,  had  Lucien 
between  them,  and  overwhelmed  him  with  flatteries. 

"  Wh}'  did  you  abandon  societj^"  asked  the  mar- 
quise, "  when  it  was  so  ready  to  welcome  you?  I  have 
a  quarrel  with  you  on  my  own  account.  You  owed  me 
a  visit,  and  I  have  never  yet  received  it.  I  saw  3'ou  the 
other  night  at  the  Opera,  but  you  did  not  deign  to  look 
at  me." 

"  Your  cousin,  madame,  had  so  positively  dismissed 
me  —  " 

"You  don't  understand  women,"  said  Madame  d'Es- 
pard,  interrupting  him.  "  You  have  wounded  the  most 
angelic  heart  and  the  noblest  soul  I  know.  You  are 
ignorant  of  all  that  Louise  was  tr3'ing  to  do  for  3'ou, 
and  how  delicatel}'  and  wisely  she  was  proceeding  — 
Oh,  3'es,  she  certainl}-  would  have  succeeded  !  "  added 
the  marquise,  replying  to  a  mute  denial  from  Lucien. 
"Her  husband  is  now  dead,  as  he  was  sure  to  die,  of 
indigestion.  You  cannot  suppose  that  she  would  ever 
have  been  willing  to  become  Madame  Chardon.  But 
the  title  of  Comtesse  de  Rubempre  was  well  worth  ob- 
taining. Love  is  a  great  vanit}',  which  needs  to  be 
harmonized  with  all  the  other  vanities,  especially  in 
marriage.  If  I  had  loved  you  to  extremes,  —  that  is  to 
say,  to  the  length  of  marrying  you,  —  I  confess  I  should 


818     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

not  like  to  be  called  Madame  Chardon.  You  must  see 
that.  Now  that  vou  have  learned  the  difficulties  of  life 
in  Paris,  you  know  how  man}'  turnings  and  windings 
we  must  all  make  to  reach  our  object.  You  surely  admit 
that  the  favor  Louise  wished  to  obtain  for  3'ou  —  an 
unknown  3'oung  man  without  fortune  —  was  an  almost 
impossible  one;  she  could  not,  therefore,  neglect  a  single 
precaution.  You  men  have  great  intelligence,  but  we 
women,  when  we  love,  have  more  than  the  cleverest 
man.  My  cousin  intended  to  employ  that  ridiculous 
Chatelet —  I  can't  help  laughing  over  your  articles 
about  him,"  she  said,  interrupting  herself 

Lucien  did  not  know  what  to  think.  Initiated  into 
the  treachery  and  trickerj^  of  journalism,  he  was  wholly 
ignorant  of  the  same  vices  in  society ;  in  spite  of  his 
native  perspicacity  he  was  to  be  roughl}'  taught  them. 

"Is  it  possible,  madame,"  he  said,  his  curiosity 
keenl}^  excited,  'Hhat  'The  Heron'  is  not  under  3'our 
protection  ?  " 

' '  In  societ}'  we  are  forced  to  be  polite  even  to  our 
enemies,  and  to  seem  to  be  amused  b}'  bores ;  and  we 
sometimes  appear  to  sacrifice  our  friends  in  order  to  do 
them  better  service.  You  are  still  very  new  to  life. 
How  can  you,  who  attempt  to  write,  remain  so  ignorant 
of  the  ever3--day  deceits  of  the  world  ?  If  m}^  cousin 
seemed  to  sacrifice  3'ou  to  '  The  Heron,'  it  was  neces- 
sary in  order  to  profit  b^'  his  influence  in  3'Our  behalf ; 
for  the  baron  stands  extremel3'  well  with  the  present 
ministry.  We  have  tried  to  show  him  that  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point  3'our  attacks  will  be  useful  to  him,  in  order 
to  reconcile  him  with  3'ou  hereafter.  The  ministr3'  con- 
sole him  for  your  persecutions  because,  as  des  Lupeaulx 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      319 

told  them,  while  the  liberal  press  turns  clu  Chatelet  to 
ridicule,  it  will  let  the  government  alone." 

"  Monsieur  Blondet  has  led  me  to  hope  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  3'ou  at  my  house,"  said  the  Comtesse  de 
Montcornet,  when  Madame  d'Espard  left  Lucien  to  his 
reflections.  ''You  will  meet  a  few  artists,  a  few  writers, 
and  a  woman  who  has  the  strongest  desire  to  meet 
you,  —  Mademoiselle  des  Touches;  a  very  rare  talent 
among  our  sex,  and  one  to  whose  house  you  ought  to 
go.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  or  Camille  Maupin,  if 
3'ou  prefer  her  pseudonym,  has  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able salons  in  Paris.  She  is  immensely  rich.  They 
have  told  her  you  are  as  handsome  as  you  are  witt}', 
and  she  is  dying  to  see  you." 

Lucien  could  only  express  himself  in  thanks  and  look 
at  Blondet  with  envious  e3'es.  There  was  as  much  dif- 
ference between  a  woman  of  the  st3'le  and  quality  of 
the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet  and  Coralie  as  between 
Coralie  and  a  mere  girl  of  the  streets.  This  countess  — 
3'oung,  beautiful,  and  clever  —  had  the  peculiar  fair- 
ness of  Northern  women  for  her  distinguishing  beaut}'. 
Her  mother  was  born  Princess  of  Scherbellof;  conse- 
quentl}'  the  minister  had  shown  her  the  most  respectful 
attentions  before  dinner. 

B3'  this  time  the  marquise  had  finished  the  disdainful 
sucking  of  a  chicken-wing. 

"  My  poor  Louise,"  she  resumed  to  Lucien,  "  had  so 
much  regard  for  you !  I  was  in  her  confidence  as  to 
the  fine  future  she  dreamed  of  She  would  have  borne 
man}'  things,  but  not  the  contempt  you  showed  in  re- 
turning her  letters.  We  women  forgive  cruelties,  —  the}' 
are  often  a  sign  of  confidence ;    but  indifference,  no ! 


320     Grreat  Mayi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Indifference  is  like  polar  ice ;  it  stifles  everj^thing. 
Well,  you  must  fidmit  3'OU  lost  3'our  future  b}^  3'our  own 
fault.  Wh}^  did  you  break  awa}'?  Even  if  3'ou  were 
rather  disdainfully^  treated,  you  had  your  fortune  to 
make,  your  name  to  recover.  Louise  was  thinking  of 
all  that." 

"  Then  whv  not  have  told  me?"  asked  Lucien. 

* '  Good  heavens !  it  was  I  m3'self  who  advised  her 
not  to  do  so.  Come,  between  ourselves,  I  will  tell  3"ou 
that,  seeing  3'ou  so  unused  to  societ3^,  I  feared  3'ou,  — 
I  feared  that  your  inexperience,  3'our  heedless  ardor, 
might  destroy  or  disarrange  her  plans.  Can  3'ou  now 
remember  what  3^ou  were  then?  Admit  that  if  3'our 
double  of  that  da3'  were  here  now  3'ou  would  feel  as  I 
did  then ;  there  is  no  resemblance  between  him  and 
3'OU.  That  was  the  onl3'  wrong  we  were  guilt3'  of;  but 
there  is  not  one  man  in  a  thousand  wlio  unites  a  great 
talent  with  so  marvellous  an  aptitude  for  social  adapta- 
tion as  3'OU  have  shown.  You  are  indeed  a  surprising 
exception.  You  made  the  transformation  so  rapidh', 
3'Ou  caught  our  Parisian  air  and  manner  so  easih^,  that 
I  did  not  recognize  3'Ou  in  the  Bois  a  month  ago." 

Lucien  listened  to  this  great  lady  with  pleasure  in- 
expressible. She  said  these  flattering  words  with  a 
simple,  confiding,  piquant  air  ;  she  seemed  so  interested 
in  his  welfare  that  he  thought  it  was  another  phase  of 
his  luck,  like  that  of  his  first  evening  at  the  Panorama- 
Dramatique.  Ever  since  that  happ3'  evening  the  world 
had  smiled  upon  him  ;  he  beheved  that  he  possessed,  in 
virtue  of  his  3'outh,  a  talismanic  power,  and  he  resolved 
to  test  the  marquise,  —  determined  in  his  own  mind  not 
to  let  her  fool  him. 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    321 

' '  May  I  ask,  maclame,  what  those  phiiis  were  that 
are  now  chimerical?"    he  said. 

"Louise  wished  to  obtain  a  decree  from  the  king 
giving  you  the  right  to  bear  the  name  and  title  of  de 
Rubempre.  She  wished  to  bury  Chardon.  That  first 
favor,  easily  obtainable  then,  but  which  your  present 
political  opinions  have  made  almost  impossible  now, 
would  have  been  a  fortune  to  you.  You  treat  these 
ideas  as  flimsy  and  frivolous ;  but  we  know  life ;  we 
know  how  solid  are  the  advantages  of  a  title  when 
borne  by  a  handsome  and  elegant  young  man.  Present 
to  an  English  beauty,  or  indeed  to  any  heiress,  '  Mon- 
sieur Chardon,'  or  '  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Rubempre'/ 
and  3'ou  will  see  the  difference  in  the  welcome.  The 
count  may  be  deep  in  debt,  but  all  hearts  are  open  to 
him ;  his  beaut}^,  set  in  the  light  of  his  title,  is  like  a 
diamond  well  mounted.  '  Monsieur  Chardon '  would 
not  even  be  noticed.  We  have  not  created  these  ideas  ; 
they  reign  supreme  everywhere,  —  even  among  the 
bourgeoisie.  You  are  turning  your  back  on  fortune. 
Look  at  that  charming  3'oung  man  over  there, — the 
Vicomte  Felix  de  Vandenesse  ;  he  is  one  of  the  private 
secretaries  of  the  king.  The  king  is  extremely  fond  of 
young  men  of  talent,  and  that  particular  one  was  not 
much  better  equipped  when  he  came  from  his  province 
than  3'ou  were,  and  you  have  ten  times  his  mind ;  but 
you  have  no  name,  —  no  famil}' !  You  know  des  Lu- 
peaulx,  don't  you?  Well,  his  own  name  is  a  good  deal 
like  3'ours ;  it  is  Chardin.  He  would  not  sell  his  little 
farm  of  des  Lupeaulx  for  a  million.  He  will  be  Comte 
des  Lupeaulx  before  long,  and  his  grandson  will  be- 
come a  great  seigneur.    If  you  continue  in  your  present 

21 


322     Grreat  Mayi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

mistaken  course  3^ou  will  certainly  fail.  See  how  much 
wiser  Monsieur  Emile  Blondet  is  than  3'ou  !  He  is  on 
a  paper  which  supports  power ;  all  the  powers  of  the 
day  look  favorably  upon  him  ;  he  can  mingle  safel}^ 
among  liberals  because  he  is  known  to  have  sound 
views  ;  he  deliberately  chose  his  opinions  and  his  pro- 
tectors. That  pretty  young  woman  on  the  other  side 
of  you  was  a  Demoiselle  de  Troisville,  with  two  peers 
of  France  and  two  deputies  in  her  family.  She  made  a 
rich  marriage  on  account  of  her  name ;  she  receives 
everybod}',  has  great  influence,  and  will  move  the 
whole  political  world  for  that  little  Monsieur  Blondet ! 
What  can  a  Coralie  do  for  j'ou?  Help  3'ou  to  make 
debts,  and  wear  3'ourself  out  with  pleasures  in  a  few 
years  from  now.  You  place  your  affections  badly,  and 
you  arrange  your  life  ill,  —  that  is  what  the  woman 
whom  you  take  pleasure  in  wounding  said  to  me  the 
other  night  at  the  Opera.  While  deploring  the  misuse 
you  are  making  of  your  talents  and  3'our  beautiful 
youth,  she  was  not  thinking  of  herself,  but  of  3'Ou." 

^'  Ah  !  if  that  were  true,  madame ! "  exclaimed  Lucien. 

" Pra3",  wh3'  should  30U  doubt  m3^  word ? "  said  the 
marquise,  casting  a  cold  and  haughty  look  on  Lucien, 
which  annihilated  him. 

He  was  so  confused  that  he  said  nothing,  and  the 
offended  marquise  said  no  more.  This  piqued  him ; 
but  he  felt  that  he  had  done  a  clumsy  thing,  and  he 
resolved  to  repair  it.  He  turned  to  Madame  de  Mont- 
cornet  and  began  to  speak  of  Blondet,  praising  his 
merits  as  a  writer.  This  was  very  well  received  by 
the  countess,  who  invited  him  to  a  small  part3''  at  her 
house,  asking  him  if  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    323 

meet  Madame  de  Bargeton,  who,  in  spite  of  her  recent 
mourning,  would  be  there.  It  was  not  a  large  part}^ ; 
merely  the  meeting  of  a  few  friends. 

"Madame  la  marquise  thinks  the  wrong  was  all  on 
my  side,"  said  Lucien  ;  "  therefore  it  is  her  cousin  who 
must  say  if  she  will  meet  me." 

"  Stop  those  ridiculous  attacks  the  papers  are  mak- 
ing on  her,  which  compromise  her  with  a  man  she  de- 
spises, and  you  can  soon  make  your  peace  with  her.  I 
am  told  3'ou  think  she  cast  you  off ;  I  can  only  sa}'  I 
have  seen  her  grieving  over  your  desertion.  Is  it  true 
that  she  left  the  provinces  with  you,  and  for  you?" 

Lucien  looked  at  the  countess,  not  daring  to  answer. 

"  How  can  3'ou  distrust  a  woman  who  has  made  such 
sacrifices  for  3'ou  ?  "  went  on  Madame  de  Montcornet. 
"  Besides,  beautiful  and  intelligent  as  she  is,  she  de- 
serves to  be  loved  under  all  circunstances.  Madame  de 
Bargeton  cared  less  for  you  than  for  vour  talents. 
Believe  me,  women  love  intellect  before  they  love 
beauty  ;  "  and  she  glanced  at  Blondet. 

In  the  house  of  the  ambassador  Lucien  saw  plainly 
the  differences  existing  between  the  great  world  and 
the  questionable  world  in  which  he  had  been  living  of 
late.  The  two  aspects  of  magnificence  had  no  likeness 
and  no  point  of  contact.  The  loftiness  and  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  rooms  of  this  hotel,  one  of  the  handsomest 
in  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain  ;  the  ancient  gilding  and 
breadth  of  the  decoration,  the  sober  richness  of  the 
accessories,  all  were  strange  and  novel  to  him  ;  but  the 
habit  he  had  now  acquired  of  accepting  luxur}'  kept 
him  from  seeming  astonished.  His  manner  was  there- 
fore as  far  removed  from  assurance  and  conceit  as  it 


324     Great  Mmi  of  the  Proviyices  in  Paris. 

was  from  obsequiousness  or  servility.  The  poet  was 
good  form,  and  pleased  those  who  had  no  reason  to  be 
hostile  to  him  ;  but  the  fashionable  young  men,  whose 
jealousy  was  roused  by  his  sudden  return  among  them 
with  his  success  and  his  beauty,  had  such  reason.  As 
the  compan}'  left  the  table  Lucien  offered  his  arm  to 
Madame  d'Espard,  and  she  accepted  it.  Eugene  de 
Rastignac,  seeing  that  the  marquise  had  rather  courted 
the  poet,  came  up  to  him  on  the  strength  of  their  being- 
compatriots,  and  reminded  him  of  their  first  meeting  at 
Madame  du  Val-Noble's.  The  young  noble  seemed  in- 
clined to  all}'  himself  with  the  great  man  of  the  prov- 
inces, —  inviting  him  to  breakfast  some  morning,  and 
offering  to  introduce  him  to  several  of  the  3'oung  men 
of  fashion.     Lucien  accepted  these  proposals. 

"  The  dear  Blondet  will  be  there,"  said  Rastignac. 

The  minister  now  joined  a  group  composed  of  the 
Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  the  Due  de  Rhetore,  de  Mar- 
say,  General  Montriveau,  Rastignac,  and  Lucien. 

"  Ver}^  well  done,"  he  said  to  Lucien,  with  the  Ger- 
man heartiness  under  which  lay  a  dangerous  slyness, 
"•I  am  glad  you  have  made  peace  with  Madame 
d'Espard.  She  is  delighted  withj'ou  ;  and  we  all  know," 
he  added,  looking  at  the  men  around  him,  "  how  diffi- 
cult it  is  to  please  her." 

"Yes,  but  she  adores  intellect,"  said  Rastignac; 
"  and  my  compatriot  has  plenty  of  that  for  sale." 

''  He  '11  soon  find  out  what  a  bad  traflJic  he  is  making 
of  it,"  said  Blondet,  quickly  ;  "  then  he  '11  turn  and  be 
one  of  us." 

A  chorus  began  around  Lucien  on  this  theme.  The 
older  men  threw  out  a  few  serious  remarks  in  a  despotic 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       325 

tone ;  the  3'oiinger  ones  jested  frankly  about  the 
liberals. 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  said  Blondet,  "  that  he  tossed  up, 
heads  or  tails,  for  Left  or  Right.  But  now  he  must 
make  a  deliberate  choice." 

Lucien  began  to  laugh,  remembering  his  scene  in  the 
Luxembourg  with  Lousteau. 

"  He  chose  one  Etienne  Lousteau  for  showman," 
went  on  Blondet,  —  "  the  bull}'  of  a  pett^^  paper,  who 
sees  a  five-franc-piece  in  ever}'  column ,  and  whose 
whole  political  creed  consists  in  looking  for  the  return 
of  Napoleon  and  (which  strikes  me  as  even  more  idi- 
otic) for  the  gratitude  and  patriotism  of  the  gentlemen 
of  the  Left.  As  a  Rubempre,  Lucien's  sentiments 
ought  to  be  aristocratic  ;  as  a  journalist  he  ought  to  be 
on  the  side  of  power,  or  he  will  never  be  a  Rubempre 
nor  a  secretary-general." 

Lucien,  who  was  now  invited  by  the  minister  to  take 
a  hand  at  whist,  excited  the  utmost  astonishment  when 
he  declared  that  he  did  not  know  the  game. 

"My  dear  friend,"  whispered  Rastignac,  "come 
early  on  the  morning  of  the  da}'  3'ou  breakfast  with  me, 
and  I  will  teach  you  the  game  ;  you  dishonor  our  native 
town  of  Angouleme,  and  I  assure  you,  in  the  words  of 
Monsieur  de  Talleyrand,  that  if  you  don't  know  whist 
3'ou  are  preparing  for  yourself  a  miserable  old  age." 

Des  Lupeaulx  was  announced,  —  a  Master  of  peti- 
tions, in  favor  with  the  ministr}'  and  doing  it  certain 
secret  services ;  a  shrewd,  ambitious  man  who  quietly 
pushed  himself  ever3'where.  He  bowed  to  Lucien, 
whom  he  had  alreadv  met  at  Madame  du  Val-Noble's, 
with  a  semblance  of  friendship  which  deceived   him. 


326     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

Finding  the  young  journalist  in  such  societjs  this  man, 
who  made  friends  out  of  policy,  perceived  that  Lucien 
was  likely  to  have  as  much  success  in  society  as  he  had 
had  in  literature.  He  approached  the  poet  through  his 
ambition,  overwhelmed  him  with  professions  and  proofs 
of  interest,  in  a  way  to  give  himself  the  tone  of  an  old 
friend,  and  thus  deceived  Lucien  as  to  the  value  of  his 
words  and  promises.  It  was  one  of  des  Lupeaulx's 
principles  to  thoroughly  understand  the  individuals  he 
wanted  to  get  rid  of  if  he  found  them  rivals. 

Thus  Lucien  was  outwardly  well  received  by  every 
one.  He  felt  what  he  owed  to  the  Due  de  Rhetore,  to 
the  German  minister,  to  Madame  d'Espard,  and  to 
Madame  de  Montcornet  He  went  up  to  these  ladies 
and  talked  to  each  for  a  few  moments  before  taking 
leave,  displaying  his  wit  as  he  did  so. 

' '  What  conceit !  "  said  des  Lupeaulx  to  the  marquise 
as  Lucien  left  the  room. 

''  He  will  be  rotten  before  he  is  ripe."  remarked  de 
Marsa}',  smiling.  "  You  must  have  some  secret  reason, 
madame,  for  thus  turning  his  head." 

Lucien  found  Coralie  in  her  carriage,  which  was  wait- 
mg  for  him  in  the  courtyard.  He  was  touched  by  such 
attention,  and  told  her  all  about  his  evening.  To  his 
great  astonishment,  the  actress  approved  of  the  new 
ideas  that  were  beginning  to  amble  through  his  head ; 
she  strong^  advised  him  to  enroll  himself  under  the 
ministerial  banner. 

"  You  have  nothing  but  hard  knocks  to  get  from  the 
liberals,"  she  said  ;  "  the}-  are  all  conspirators,  —  they 
killed  the  Due  de  Berr3\  Can  they  overturn  the  gov- 
ernment?    No!     You'll  never  get  on   through  them; 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    327 

whereas,  if  you  belong  to  the  other  side,  you  will  be 
Comte  de  Rubempre.  You  can  then  do  services  and  be 
made  a  peer  of  France  and  marry  a  rich  woman.  Be 
an  ultra.  Besides,  it  is  good  style,"  she  added,  using 
the  word  which  to  her  was  the  highest  of  all  argu- 
ments. "  The  Val-Noble,  with  whom  I  dined  to-day, 
tells  me  that  Theodore  Gaillard  is  really  going  to  start 
his  little  roj'alist  paper,  called  '  Le  Re  veil,'  so  as  to 
parry  the  malice  of  your  paper  and  the  '  Miroir,'  and 
thrust  back.  According  to  him.  Monsieur  de  Villele 
and  his  party  will  be  in  the  ministrj-  before  the  year  is 
out.  Profit  b}'  all  this,  and  get  in  with  them  now  be- 
fore the}'  come  to  power.  But  don't  sa}^  anything  about 
it  to  Etienne  or  to  3^our  other  friends  ;  the}'  would  very 
likely  play  you  false  about  it." 

A  week  later  Lucien  presented  himself  in  Madame 
de  Montcornet's  salon,  where  he  was  seized  with  a  vio- 
lent agitation  on  seeing  once  more  the  woman  he  had 
loved  sincerely,  and  whose  feelings  he  had  lately  lace- 
rated. Louise  was  metamorphosed.  She  was  now 
what  she  would  always  have  been  had  she  ncA'cr  lived 
in  the  provinces,  —  a  great  lady.  Her  mourning  gar- 
ments had  a  choiceness  and  grace  about  them  which 
were  not  those  of  an  unhappy  widow.  Lucien  believed 
that  he  counted  for  something  in  the  coquetry  of  her 
appearance,  and  he  was  not  mistaken.  But  he  had 
now,  like  an  ogre,  tasted  young  flesh.  He  remained 
the  whole  evening  undecided  in  his  feelings,  between 
the  beautiful,  loving,  and  seductive  Coralie,  and  the 
faded,  haughty,  and  exacting  Louise.  He  could  not 
decide  on  his  course.  Should  he  sacrifice  the  actress 
to  the  great  lady  ?    This  sacrifice  Madame  de  Bargeton, 


328     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

who  felt  her  love  renewed  on  again  seeing  Lucien  now 
so  brilliant  and  so  handsome,  expected  and  awaited 
throughout  that  evening.  She  had  her  pains  for 
naught.  Her  insinuating  words,  her  coquettish  man- 
ner, had  no  result,  and  she  left  the  salon  that  night 
with  an  irrevocable  desire  for  vengeance  in  her  heart. 

*'  Well,  dear  Lucien,"  she  had  said  when  they  met, 
with  a  kindliness  of  manner  that  was  full  of  Parisian 
grace  and  nobilit}^,  "  3^ou  were  to  have  been  my  glory, 
but  you  have  made  me  your  first  victim.  I  forgive  you, 
my  child,  for  I  know  that  there  is  always  a  remnant  of 
love  in  such  a  vengeance." 

By  these  words,  said  with  an  air  of  regal  kindness, 
Madame  de  Bargeton  recovered  her  position.  Lucien, 
who  believed  he  was  absolutely  in  the  right,  suddenly 
felt  that  she  had  put  him  in  the  wrong.  No  mention 
was  made  of  the  terrible  letter  in  which  he  had  broken 
away  from  her,  nor  of  the  causes  of  the  rupture.  Women 
of  the  world  have  a  marvellous  talent  for  diminishing 
their  wrong-doings  by  pleasant  words  ;  the}'  efl^ace  them 
with  a  smile,  or  by  a  question  which  pretends  surprise. 
They  remember  nothing,  the}^  explain  all,  the}^  ques- 
tion, comment,  amplify,  pla}-  amazement,  quarrel,  and 
end  up  by  getting  rid  of  their  evil  deeds,  as  they 
wash  out  spots  with  soap  and  water.  You  know  the 
spots  were  there,  and  very  black ;  but  behold !  they 
are  gone,  and  all  is  white  and  innocent.  As  for  you, 
you  may  think  yourself  lucky  if  some  unpardonable 
crime  has  not  been  affixed  to  you.  In  a  moment 
Lucien  and  Louise  had  returned  to  their  old  ilkisions 
about  each  other ;  but  Lucien,  intoxicated  with  satis- 
fied vanity,  intoxicated  with  Coralie,  who  made  his  life 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      329 

so  easy  for  him,  did  not  reply  definitely  to  a  question 
which  Madame  de  Bargetou  put  to  him  with  a  flicker  of 
hesitation :  — 

*'Are  3'ou  happy?" 

A  melancholy  "no"  would  have  made  his  fortune. 
He  thought  himself  witty  and  wise  in  explaining  Cora- 
lie  ;  he  said  he  was  loved  for  himself,  and  that  ought 
to  make  him  happ}'.  Madame  de  Bargeton  bit  her  lips, 
and  the  matter  ended  there.  Madame  d'Espard  pres- 
entl}'  came  up  to  them  with  Madame  de  Montcornet. 
Lucien  felt  himself  the  hero  of  the  evening.  He  was 
petted,  flattered,  and  caressed  by  the  three  women,  who 
twisted  him  round  their  fingers  with  infinite  adroitness. 
His  success  in  this  great  and  brilliant  world  was,  he 
felt,  nothing  short  of  his  former  success  in  journalism. 
The  beautiful  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  so  celebrated 
under  the  name  of  Camille  Maupin,  to  whom  Mesdames 
d'Espard  and  Bargeton  presented  Lucien,  invited  him 
to  one  of  her  Wednesday  dinners,  and  seemed  much 
taken  by  his  now  famous  beaut3\  Lucien  tried  to  prove 
to  her  that  he  was  even  more  intellectual  than  hand- 
some. Mademoiselle  des  Touches  expressed  her  admi- 
ration with  the  naive  rapture  and  charming  affectation 
of  friendship  which  is  so  taking  to  those  who  do  not 
know  the  real  shallowness  of  Parisian  societ}',  where 
the  habit  and  the  continual  need  of  amusement  render 
novelt}'  the  one  thing  sought  for. 

"  If  I  pleased  her  as  much  as  she  pleases  me,"  re- 
marked Lucien  to  Rastignac  and  de  Marsa}',  ' '  we  could 
epitomize  the  novel." 

"  You  both  know  too  well  how  to  write  them  to  wish 
to  act  them,"  replied  Rastignac.     "  Can  authors  love 


330     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

authors?  There  must  always  come  a  moment  when 
they  sa}'  sharp  things  to  each  other." 

"It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  dream,"  said  de  Marsay. 
"That  charming  woman  is  thirty,  to  be  sure,  but  she 
has  nearly  eighty  thousand  francs  a  year.  She  is  ador- 
ably capricious,  and  her  style  of  beauty  lasts.  Coralie 
is  a  little  goose,  m}'  dear  fellow  !  only  useful  to  get 
3'our  hand  in,  —  for  of  course  a  man  can't  remain  without 
a  mistress  ;  but  if  you  don't  make  some  distinguished 
conquest  in  society,  the  actress  will  be  an  injury  to  3'ou 
in  the  long  run.  I  advise  3'ou  to  supplant  Conti,  who 
is  just  going  to  sing  with  Camille  Maupin.  Ever  since 
the  world  began,  poetr}-  has  had  precedence  of  music." 

But  as  Lucien  listened  to  the  singing  of  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  and  Conti,  such  schemes  flew  awa}^ 

"  Conti  sings  too  well,"  he  said  to  des  Lupeaulx. 

Lucien  returned  to  Madame  de  Bargeton,  who  took 
him  into  anotlier  room,  where  they  found  Madame 
d'Espard. 

"  Well,  don't  you  intend  to  take  an  interest  in  him 
and  assist  him?"  said  Louise  to  her  cousin. 

"  Monsieur  Chardon  must  first  put  himself  in  a  posi- 
tion to  be  assisted  witliout  injury  to  his  protectors," 
said  the  marquise,  in  a  tone  that  was  both  gentle  and 
impertinent.  "  If  he  wishes  to  obtain  the  letters-patent 
which  will  enable  him  to  resign  the  unfortunate  name 
of  his  father  for  that  of  his  mother,  he  certainly  ought 
to  belong  to  our  party." 

"  In  two  months'  time  I  shall  be  able  to  do  so,"  said 
Lucien. 

"Very  good!"  said  the  marquise,  "when  that  time 
comes  I  will  see  my  father  and  uncle,  who  belong  to 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    331 

the  king's  household  ;    the}'  will  speak  of  3'ou  to  the 
chancellor." 

The  diplomatist  and  the  two  women  had  readily  divined 
Lucien's  weakest  spot.  The  poet,  enraptured  with  all 
these  aristocratic  splendors,  felt  unspeakabl}'  mortified 
at  the  sound  of  his  own  name  (Chardon),  especially 
as  he  listened  to  the  sonorous  names  prefaced  by  titles 
with  which  other  men  were  announced.  This  pain  was 
renewed  wherever  he  went  for  the  next  few  da3'S.  More- 
over, his  sensations  were  equally  disagreeable  on  re- 
turning to  the  scenes  of  his  daily  work  after  spending 
his  evenings  in  the  great  world,  whither  he  went  in 
suitable  stvle  with  Coralie's  carriage  and  servants.  He 
learned  to  ride  on  horseback,  and  galloped  beside  the 
equipages  of  Madame  d'Espard,  Mademoiselle  des 
Touclies,  and  Madame  de  Montcornet,  in  the  Bois,  — 
a  privilege  he  had  so  much  coveted  on  his  first  arrival 
in  Paris.  Finot  was  enchanted  to  procure  for  such  a 
useful  reporter  a  permit  to  the  Opera,  where  Lucien 
now  spent  many  of  his  evenings ;  for  he  belonged 
henceforth  to  the  special  world  of  elegance  which 
frequented  it. 

The  poet  returned  the  attentions  of  Rastignac  and 
his  other  fashionable  friends  by  a  breakfast ;  but  he 
committed  the  blunder  of  giving  it  at  Coralie's  ;  for  he 
was  too  young,  too  much  of  a  poet,  too  confiding,  to 
suspect  the  importance  of  shades  of  conduct.  An 
actress,  kind  and  good  but  without  education,  could  not 
teach  him  life.  The  provincial  youth  proved  conclu- 
sively to  these  j^oung  men  that  Coralie  was  supporting 
him,  —  a  state  of  things  of  which  they  were  jealous, 
while  each  condemned   it.     Rastignac  was  the  one  to 


332       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

make  the  bitterest  jokes  against  it  that  very  evening, 
and  3'et  he  maintained  himself  in  society  in  precisely 
the  same  wa}^ ;  onl}',  he  kept  up  appearances  and  was 
able  therefore  to  treat  the  accusation  as  calumnv. 

Lucien  had  now  learned  whist ;  and  play  speedily  be- 
came a  passion  with  him.  Coralie,  eager  to  avoid  all 
rivalry,  was  far  from  disapproving  Lucien's  course ; 
she  encouraged  his  dissipations  with  the  blindness  of  a 
single-minded  sentiment,  which  sees  only  the  present, 
and  sacrifices  all,  CA^en  the  future,  to  the  enjoj^ment  of 
the  moment.  The  characteristics  of  a  true  affection  are 
frequently  like  those  of  childhood,  —  absence  of  reflec- 
tion, imprudence,  heedless  improvidence,  laughter,  and 
tears. 

At  this  period  there  flourished  a  society  of  3'oung  men 
called  viveurs,  who  were  rich  or  poor  and  all  aimless 
prodigals,  — men  who  lived  with  extraordinary  reckless- 
ness ;  intrepid  eaters,  but  more  intrepid  drinkers.  All 
were  spendthrifts ;  mingling  much  wild  jesting  with  an 
existence  which  was  not  so  foolish  as  it  was  crazy ; 
the}"  recoiled  before  no  impossibilit}^,  and  gloried  in 
their  misdeeds,  which  were,  however,  restrained  within 
certain  limits.  So  much  originalit}'  was  developed  in 
their  pranks  that  it  was  usuall}'  impossible  not  to  for- 
give them.  No  fact  proclaims  more  distinctly'  the  idle- 
ness of  mind  to  which  the  Restoration  had  condemned 
the  vouth  of  France.  Youns;  men  who  did  not  know  in 
what  way  to  expend  their  vigor,  not  onlj'  flung  them- 
selves into  journalism,  into  conspiracies,  into  literature, 
into  art,  but  also  dissipated  in  strange  excesses  the 
superabounding  sap  and  power  of  young  France.  If 
it  toiled,  that  glorious  3'outh  craved  pleasure  and  su- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     333 

premacy  ;  if  it  followed  an  art,  it  wanted  treasures  ;  if  it 
were  idle,  its  passions  demanded  exercise  ;  but  what- 
ever path  it  took  it  wanted  a  career,  a  place,  an  aim ; 
and  the  public  policy  gave  it  none.  These  viveurs 
were  nearly  all  endowed  with  eminent  faculties.  Some 
lost  those  faculties  in  the  aimless  life  to  which  they 
were  condemned  ;  others  resisted.  The  most  celebrated 
among  them,  the  most  brilliantly  capable,  Eugene  de 
Rastignac,  ended  by  entering,  thanks  to  de  Marsay,  a 
serious  career  in  which  he  has  distinguished  himself. 
The  pranks  and  diversions  to  which  these  young  men 
devoted  themselves  became  so  famous  that  many  of  the 
vaudevilles  of  the  day  were  based  upon  them.  Lucien, 
introduced  by  Blondet  to  this  dissipated  company, 
sparkled  in  its  midst  next  after  Bixiou,  one  of  the  most 
mischievous  minds  and  inexhaustible  satirists  of  the 
day. 

During  the  whole  of  this  winter,  therefore,  Lucien's 
life  was  one  long  inebriation,  interrupted  only  by  the 
sort  of  journalistic  work  that  was  easy  to  him.  He 
continued  the  series  of  his  Variet3"  articles,  and  did  at 
times  make  strenuous  efforts,  producing  a  few  fine  crit- 
icisms carefully  thought  out.  But  study  was  excep- 
tional ;  the  poet  never  applied  himself  unless  constrained 
by  necessity.  Breakfasts,  dinners,  pleasure-parties  of 
all  kinds,  evenings  in  societ}',  and  play,  took  nearly  all 
his  time,  and  Coralie  consumed  the  rest.  Lucien  never 
allowed  himself  to  think  of  the  morrow.  He  saw  his 
so-called  friends  behaving  just  as  he  did,  —  spending 
their  money  as  they  got  it,  and  careless  of  the  future. 
Once  admitted  into  journalism  and  literature  on  a 
footing   of  equality,   Lucien   perceived   the    enormous 


o34       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

difficulties  lie  would  liave  to  couquer  if  he  endeavored 
to  rise.  All  were  willing  to  have  him  as  an  equal ;  no 
one  would  consent  to  his  becoming  their  superior.  In- 
sensibl}',  therefore,  he  renounced  the  desire  for  literary 
fame,  and  contented  himself  with  thinking  that  political 
good  fortune  was  easier  to  acquire. 

"Political  intrigue  rouses  fewer  opposing  passions 
than  talent ;  its  quiet,  concealed  proceedings  excite  no 
attention,"  du  Chatelet  said  to  him  one  day.  (Lucien 
and  the  baron  were  by  this  time  reconciled.)  "  Intrigue 
is,  in  fact,  superior  to  talent,  because  it  makes  some- 
thing out  of  nothing  :  whereas  the  resources  of  talent  are 
for  the  most  part  spent  in  making  a  man  unhappy." 

Lucien  continued  his  way  through  this  life  of  ease 
and  luxur}-,  w^here  the  morrow  trod  upon  the  heels  of 
yesterda}'  in  the  middle  of  some  orgy.  He  was  still 
assiduous  in  societ}' ;  he  courted  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
the  Marquise  d'Espard,  the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet, 
and  he  never  missed  a  single  party  given  by  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches.  He  went  to  these  parties  before 
some  gay  supper  or  after  some  dinner  of  authors  or 
publishers ;  the  demands  of  Parisian  conversation  and 
the  excitement  of  pla}'  absorbed  the  remaining  ideas 
and  strength  which  his  excesses  left  him.  Soon  he  no 
longer  had  the  clear  lucidity  of  mind,  the  coolness  ne- 
cessary to  observe  the  facts  about  him  and  to  employ 
the  tact  which  those  who  advance  on  sufferance  must 
display  at  ever}'  moment ;  he  was  no  longer  able  to 
distinguish  the  moments  when  Madame  de  Bargeton's 
feelings  moved  her  towards  him  or  withdrew  her  from 
him  wounded  ;  he  could  not  see  when  she  pardoned 
him,  nor  when  she  again  condemned  him. 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     335 

Chatelet  saw  plainly  the  chances  that  still  remained 
to  his  rival,  and  he  became  his  friend  in  order  to  en- 
courage the  dissipation  which  was  blunting  his  energies. 
Rastignac,  who  was  jealous  of  his  compatriot  and  found 
the  baron  a  surer  and  more  useful  all}'  than  Lucien, 
assisted  Chatelet.  He  had  reconciled  the  ex-beau  and 
the  poet  at  a  magnificent  supper  given  b}'  him  at  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale.  Lucien,  who  habitually  went  home 
in  the  earl}'  morning  and  did  not  rise  till  mid-day,  found 
in  Coralie  a  love  that  was  alwa3S  the  same.  Thus  the 
mainspring  of  his  will,  weakened  by  idleness  and  the 
failure  of  resolutions  made  in  moments  when  he  saw  his 
position  in  its  true  light,  became  at  last  unstrung,  re- 
sponding only  to  the  severest  pressure  of  necessit}'. 

The  gentle,  tender  Coralie,  after  rejoicing  that  Lu- 
cien was  amused,  after  encouraging  his  dissipation  as 
a  means  to  the  duration  of  his  attachment  and  the  ties 
that  bound  him  to  her,  even  she  had  the  courage  to 
advise  her  lover  not  to  neglect  his  work.  Several  times 
she  warned  him  that  he  had  earned  almost  nothing 
during  his  month.  Lover  and  mistress  both  were  fright- 
fully in  debt.  The  fifteen  hundred  francs  received 
from  the  sale  of  the  "Daisies"  (five  hundred  having 
gone  to  his  sister,  and  a  thousand  being  lent  to  Lous- 
teau)  and  the  first  five  hundred  which  Lucien  earned 
were  swallowed  up  at  once.  In  three  months  his  ar- 
ticles onl}"  brought  him  a  thousand  francs,  though  he 
thought  he  had  been  working  desperately.  But  b}' 
this  time  Lucien  had  adopted  the  agreeable  principles 
of  the  viveurs  as  to  debts.  It  is  to  be  remarked 
that  certain  trul}'  poetic  natures  with  weak  wills,  ab- 
sorbed in  sentiment  and  in  rendering  their  sensations 


336       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

hy  images,  are  essentially  deficient  in  the  moral  sense 
which  ought  to  accompany  all  observation.  Poets  pre- 
fer to  receive  impressions  themselves  rather  than  enter 
into  the  souls  of  others  and  study  the  mechanism  of 
their  feelings.  Thus  Lucien  never  asked  what  became 
of  those  viveurs  who  disappeared,  nor  the  cause  of  their 
disappearance  ;  he  saw  nothing  of  the  fate  of  the  so- 
called  friends,  some  of  whom  had  had  propert}^,  others 
positive  hopes,  others,  again,  undoubted  talent,  while 
many  had  had  intrepid  faith  in  their  own  destin}-,  and 
a  fixed  determination  to  take  all  chances  in  their  favor. 
Lucien  adopted  Blondet's  axioms  as  the  rule  of  his 
future:  "All  things  come  outright;"  "Nothing  can 
injure  those  who  have  nothing;"  "We  have  nothing 
to  lose  but  what  we  seek;"  "Swim  with  the  current 
and  it  must  take  you  somewhere  ;  "  "A  man  of  intel- 
lect who  has  a  footing  in  societ}'  can  make  his  fortune 
when  he  will." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      337 


XX. 


A    FIFTH    VARIETY    OF    PUBLISHER. 

This  winter,  full  of  pleasures  and  dissipations,  was 
employed  hy  Theodore  Gaillaid  and  Hector  Merlin  in 
finding  capital  with  which  to  start  their  "  Reveil,"  the 
first  number  of  which  appeared  in  March,  1822.  The 
affair  was  managed  at  the  house  of  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble.  That  witt}'  and  elegant  courtesan  exercised  a 
marked  influence  over  bankers,  men  of  rank,  and  the 
writers  of  the  royalist  party,  who  were  accustomed  to 
meet  in  her  salon  and  discuss  certain  matters  which 
could  not  be  touched  on  elsewhere.  Hector  Merlin, 
to  whom  the  editorship-in-chief  of  the  "Reveil"  had 
been  promised,  was  to  have  Lucien,  now  his  intimate 
friend,  for  his  right-hand  man,  and  the  latter  w^as 
also  offered  the  feuilleton  of  one  of  the  ministerial 
journals. 

This  change  of  front  in  Lucien's  position  was  silently 
arranged  while  the  pleasures  and  amusements  of  his  life 
were  going  on.  This  child  fancied  himself  a  great  poli- 
tician bj-  concealing  for  the  present  his  theatrical  somer- 
sault, and  he  counted  much  on  obtaining  ministerial 
bounties  which  would  pay  his  debts  and  put  an  end  to 
Coralie's  secret  anxieties.     The  actress,  always  smiling, 

22 


338       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

hid  her  troubles  from  him  ;  but  Berenice  boldly  warned 
him  that  they  were  heav}'.  Like  all  poets,  this  great 
man,  still  in  embryo,  was  extremely  pitiful  over  such 
distress,  and  promised  to  work  harder ;  but  he  forgot 
the  promise  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  made,  and  drowned 
his  feelings  in  a  debauch.  When  Coralie  saw  the  cloud 
on  her  lover's  brow  she  scolded  Berenice,  and  assured 
Lucien  that  she  could  settle  all. 

Madame  d'Espard  and  Madame  de  Bargeton  were 
awaiting  Lucien's  public  conversion  to  ask  the  ministry, 
through  du  Chatelet,  for  the  decree  which  should  grant 
Lucien  the  much-desired  change  of  name, —  at  least  they 
said  they  were.  Lucien  had  promised  to  dedicate  his 
"  Daisies"  to  Madame  d'Espard,  who  seemed  much  flat- 
tered by  a  distinction  which  authors  have  since  made 
rare,  now  that  the}'  have  come  to  be  a  power  in  the  world. 
When  Lucien  went  to  Dauriat  and  asked  wh}^  his  book 
did  not  appear,  the  publisher  gave  him  several  excel- 
lent reasons  for  not  as  yet  putting  it  in  tj'pe.  He  had 
such  and  such  a  work  on  hand  which  took  all  his  time. 
A  new  volume  b}'  Canalis  was  just  coming  out,  and 
it  was  better  not  to  come  in  contact  with  it ;  Monsieur 
de  Lamartine's  second  "Meditations"  were  in  press, 
and  two  important  collections  of  poems  ought  not  to 
appear  at  the  same  time.  .  .  .  Besides,  an  author  ought 
to  trust  to  the  business  faculty  of  his  publisher. 

Nevertheless,  Lucien's  needs  became  so  pressing  that 
he  was  forced  to  have  recourse  to  Finot,  who  made  him 
a  few  advances  on  his  articles.  When  at  night,  after 
supper,  the  poet-journalist  would  sometimes  explain  his 
situation  to  his  friends  the  viveurs,  they  drowned  his 
scruples  in  floods  of  iced  champagne  and  merriment. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    339 

"Debts!  was  there  ever  a  strong-minded  man  who 
had  no  debts?  Debts  represented  satisfied  wants,  ex- 
acting vices.  No  man  ever  forced  his  way  onward  until 
the  iron  hand  of  necessit}'  was  upon  him." 

"To  great  men  belongs  the  gratitude  of  pawn- 
shops ! "    cried  Blondet. 

"  To  will  all  is  to  owe  all,"  said  Bixiou. 

"No,"  said  des  Lepeaulx,  "to  owe  all  is  to  have 
all." 

The  viveurs  managed  to  prove  to  this  mere  child  that 
his  debts  would  be  the  golden  spur  with  which  to  goad 
the  liorses  that  drew  the  chariot  of  his  fortunes.  Look 
at  Csesar  with  his  forty  millions  of  debt,  and  Fred- 
erick II.  receiving  a  ducat  a  month  from  his  father ! 
and  all  the  famous  and  corrupting  examples  of  great 
men  shown  in  their  vices,  —  never  in  the  omnipotence 
of  their  courage  and  their  conceptions  ! 

At  last,  however,  Coralie's  furniture  and  horses  and 
carriage  were  attached  by  several  creditors,  whose  bills 
amounted  to  four  thousand  francs.  When  Lucien  went 
to  Lousteau  to  ask  for  the  thousand  francs  he  had  lent 
him,  Lousteau  showed  him  documents  which  proved 
that  matters  were  as  bad  at  Florine's  as  they  were  at 
Coralie's  ;  but  he  offered  out  of  gratitude  to  put  him 
in  the  wa}'  of  finding  a  publisher  for  his  "Archer  of 
Charles  IX." 

"How  did  Florine  get  into  such  trouble?"  asked 
Lucien. 

"  Matifat  took  fright,"  replied  Lousteau.  "  We  have 
lost  him ;  but  if  Florine  chooses,  he  can  be  made  to 
pay  dear  for  his  treachery.  I'll  tell  you  about  it 
later." 


340     Great  Man  of  the  Provijices  iyi  Paris. 

Three  daj's  after  Lucien  had  made  this  fruitless  ap- 
peal to  Lousteau,  the  lovers  were  breakfasting  sadly 
beside  the  JBre  in  their  beautiful  bedroom,  and  Berenice 
was  cooking  eggs  on  a  plate,  for  the  cook  and  the 
coachman  and  the  other  servants  had  all  departed. 
They  could  not  sell  their  furniture,  for  it  was  now  at- 
tached. Not  a  single  article  of  gold  or  silver,  or  of  any 
intrinsic  value,  remained  to  them  ;  all  were  represented 
b}'  pawn-tickets,  forming  a  small  octavo  volume  that  was 
highly  instructive.  Berenice  had  kept  back  two  forks 
and  two  spoons.  The  little  dailj"  journal  was  of  inesti- 
mable value  to  Lucien  and  Coralie  by  keeping  quiet 
the  tailor,  the  dressmaker,  and  milliner,  who  feared  to 
displease  a  journalist  so  long  as  he  was  able  to  write 
down  their  establishments. 

Lousteau  came  in  as  they  sat  there,  crjing  out, 
"  Hurrah  for  '  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX  ! '  I  've  just 
sold  off  a  hundred  francs'  worth  of  books  ;  let's  divide, 
my  children ! " 

So  saying,  he  gave  fifty  francs  to  Coralie,  and  sent 
Berenice  out  to  get  a  better  breakfast. 

"Yesterday  Hector  Merlin  and  I  dined  with  some 
publishers,  and  we  paved  the  way  for  your  novel  with 
knowing;  insinuations.  It  is  true  vou  have  Dauriat 
already  ;  but  Dauriat  is  niggardly  ;  he  won't  give  more 
than  four  thousand  francs  for  two  thousand  copies,  and 
3'ou  ought  to  get  six  thousand.  We  talked  to  our  new 
publishers  cleverly,  and  set  3'ou  above  Walter  Scott. 
Yes,  3'ou  had  splendid  novels  in  your  pouch.  You  were 
not  offering  a  single  book,  but  an  enterprise  ;  not  one 
novel,  but  a  series  !  That  word  '  series  '  did  the  busi- 
ness.    So  don't  forget  that  you  have  got  in  your  port- 


Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    341 

folio  an  historical  series, — 'La  Grande  Mademoiselle, 
or  France  under  Louis  XIV.  ;  ^  '  Cotillon  L,  or  the 
First  Days  of  Louis  XV. ; '  '  The  Queen  and  the  Car- 
dinal, a  picture  of  Paris  during  the  Fronde  ; '  and  'The 
Son  of  Concini,  or  Richelieu's  Intrigue.'  All  those 
novels  are  to  be  announced  on  the  cover.  We  call  that 
manoeuvre  striking  success  in  the  eye.  Keep  those  fine 
titles  on  the  cover  and  they  soon  be(;ome  known,  and 
you  are  reallv  more  famous  for  the  books  vou  don't 
write  than  for  those  you  have  written.  The  '  In  Press ' 
is  another  literarj'  dodge.  Come,  let's  be  happy  !  here's 
the  champagne.  I  tell  3'ou,  Lucien,  those  publishers 
opened  their  e3'es  as  wide  as  saucers.  Why,  where  are 
j^our  saucers  ?  " 

"  Seized  !  "  said  Coralie. 

"  I  see  ;  and  I  resume,"  said  Lousteau.  "  Publishers 
will  believe  in  all  those  manuscripts  if  they  see  one. 
The}^  alwaj's  want  to  see  a  manuscript,  and  pretend  to 
read  it.  Let  'em  have  their  fancy.  They  don't  really 
read  the  books,  or  the}'  wouldn't  publish  what  they  do ! 
Hector  and  I  gave  the  impression  that  you  might  con- 
sider an  offer  of  five  thousand  francs  for  three  thousand 
copies  in  two  editions.  Give  me  the  manuscript  of  '  The 
Archer ; '  and  the  day  after  to-morrow  we  are  to  break- 
fast with  the  publishers,  and  then  we  '11  get  the  whip 
hand  of  them." 

"  Who  are  they?"  asked  Lucien. 

"Two  partners  —  good  fellows,  pretty  fair  in  busi- 
ness —  named  Fendant  and  Cavalier.  One  was  a  clerk 
with  Vidal  and  Porchon,  the  other  was  the  clever- 
est hand  on  the  Quai  des  Augustins.  The}^  set  up  in 
business  about  a  year  ago.     After  losing  a  little  money 


342     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

on  translations  of  English  novels,  they  now  want  to 
experiment  with  the  indigenous  thing.  It  is  said  that 
the}'  are  carrying  on  the  business  with  other' people's 
capital ;  but  it  does  n't  signify  to  you  whom  the  money 
belongs  to  as  long  as  you  get  some  of  it." 

The  next  day  but  one  the  two  journalists  went  to 
breakfast  in  the  rue  Serpente,  Lucien's  old  quarter, 
where  Lousteau  still  kept  his  miserable  room  in  the 
rue  de  la  Harpe.  Lucien,  who  came  to  fetch  his  friend, 
found  that  den  in  precisely  the  same  state  as  it  was  on 
the  evening  of  his  first  introduction  to  literar}'  life  ;  but 
he  no  longer  felt  surprised  at  it ;  he  had  been  initiated 
since  then  into  the  vicissitudes  of  a  journalist's  life,  and 
there  was  nothing  he  did  not  comprehend.  The  great 
man  of  the  provinces  had  received,  gambled,  and  lost 
the  pay  of  man}'  an  article,  together  with  the  desire  to 
write  them.  He  had  written  more  than  one  column  by 
the  various  tricky  processes  which  Lousteau  had  de- 
scribed to  him  as  they  made  their  way  from  the  rue  de 
la  Harpe  to  the  Palais-Royal  on  that  memorable  first 
evening.  Fallen  now  into  the  power  of  Barbet  and 
Braulard,  he  trafficked  in  books  and  theatre  tickets ; 
and  he  was  long  past  recoiling  at  any  praises  or  any 
attacks  he  was  ordered  to  make.  Even  at  this  moment 
he  was  rejoicing  at  getting  all  he  could  out  of  Lousteau 
before  it  was  known  that  he  had  turned  his  back  upon 
the  liberals,  and  would  now  attack  them  all  the  more 
knowingly  because  he  had  studied  them  in  their  midst. 
On  tlie  other  hand,  Lousteau  was  secretl}'  receiving,  to 
Lucien's  disadvantage,  a  sum  of  five  hundred  francs  in 
cash  from  Fendant  and  Cavalier,  under  the  name  of 
commission,   for   having   obtained   this   future  Walter 


Great  Man  of  the  Pj'ovinces  in  Paris.    343 

Scott  for  the  publishers  who  were  in  quest  of  a  French 
Scott. 

The  firm  of  Fendant  and  Cavalier  was  one  of  those 
publishing  houses  which  are  established  without  any 
capital  whatever.  A  great  many  of  that  kind  existed 
in  those  days,  and  will  continue  to  exist  so  long  as 
printers  and  paper-makers  consent  to  give  credit  to 
publishers  for  the  length  of  time  required  to  play  seven 
or  eight  games  of  what  are  called  "publications."  Then 
as  now,  works  were  bought  from  authors  with  notes 
payable  in  six,  nine,  or  twelve  months.  The  publishers 
paid  their  printers  and  their  paper-makers  in  the  same 
way  ;  so  that  they  had  in  their  hands  for  a  whole  year, 
gratis,  as  man}^,  perhaps,  as  a  dozen  or  twenty  works. 
Supposing  two  or  three  of  these  to  be  a  success,  the 
proceeds  of  the  successful  books  paid  for  the  unsuccess- 
ful ones,  and  thus  they  balanced  each  other,  book  for 
book.  If  the  works  were  all  doubtful ;  or  if,  by  ill  luck, 
the  publishers  got  hold  of  only  good  books  which  could 
not  be  sold  until  they  were  read  and  appreciated  b}^  the 
true  public  ;  or  if  their  notes  falling  due  were  too  heavy 
on  them,  —  the}''  went  into  voluntary  bankruptcy,  and 
sent  in  their  schedules  with  perfect  indifference,  being 
prepared  in  advance  for  this  result.  The  chances,  how- 
ever, were  in  their  favor,  and  they  plaj'ed  upon  the 
great  green  table  of  speculation  with  the  money  of 
others  and  not  their  own. 

Fendant  and  Cavalier  were  publishers  of  this  descrip- 
tion. Cavalier  contributed  his  wits  to  the  business,  and 
Fendant  his  industr}'.  They  possessed  a  common  fund 
of  a  few  thousand  francs,  —  savings  scraped  together  by 
their  mistresses,  —  out  of  which  the}^  had  given  them- 


344     G-7'eat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

selves  each  a  salaiy,  which  they  spent  very  scrupulously 
on  dinners  to  journalists  and  authors,  and  at  theatres, 
where,  as  they  said,  their  business  was  done.  This 
particular  pair  of  semi-swindlers  were  held  to  be  clever 
men.  Fendant  was  more  trick}^  than  Cavalier.  True 
to  his  name,  Cavalier  travelled ;  Fendant  sta3'ed  in 
Paris  and  managed  the  business.  The  partnership  was 
what  it  usually  is  between  two  publishers,  —  a  duel. 
The  firm  occupied  the  ground-floor  of  one  of  the  old 
mansions  in  the  rue  Serpente, — their  office  being  at 
the  farther  end  of  several  large  salons  converted  into 
warerooms.  Thej^  had  already  published  a  number  of 
novels  ;  such  as  the  "  Tour  du  Nord,"  the  "  Marchand 
de  Benares,"  "Takeli,"  and  the  novels  of  Gait,  an 
English  author  who  had  no  success  in  France.  The 
fame  of  Walter  Scott  attracted  the  attention  of  French 
publishers  to  English  literary  products ;  so  much  so 
that  the}^  meditated  another  Norman  conquest.  They 
sought  for  other  Walter  Scotts,  just  as,  later,  the 
French  people  looked  for  asphalts  on  stony  ground, 
bitumen  in  marshes,  and  profits  from  projected  rail- 
wa3'S.  One  of  the  greatest  follies  of  Parisian  com- 
merce is  to  expect  the  duplication  of  success,  when,  in 
fact,  it  goes  b}'  contraries.  Success  kills  success,  —  in 
Paris  especiall}^ 

So,  beneath  the  title  of  "  Strelitz,  or  Russia  a  Hun- 
dred Years  ago,"  Fendant  and  Cavalier  bravely  added 
in  large  letters,  "  in  the  st34e  of  Walter  Scott."  They 
were  thirsting  for  a  success ;  a  good  book  would  help 
to  float  their  stagnant  bales ;  they  were,  moreover, 
lured  by  the  hope  of  getting  articles  into  the  papers, 
which  was  the  grand  condition  of  a  good  sale  in  those 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     345 

daj's  ;  for  it  is  rare  that  a  book  is  ever  bought  on  its 
own  unassisted  merits ;  it  is  ahnost  always  published 
and  sold  for  reasons  quite  foreign  to  them.  Fendant 
and  Cavalier  saw  in  Lucien  a  journalist,  and  in  his 
book  a  manufactured  article,  the  first  sale  of  which 
would  tide  them  over  a  period  when  notes  were 
due. 

The  two  journalists  found  the  partners  in  their  office, 
the  agreement  ready,  the  notes  signed.  Such  prompti- 
tude delighted  Lucien.  Fendant  was  a  small,  spare 
man  with  a  dangerous  cast  of  countenance,  —  that  of  a 
Kalmuck  Tartar ;  small,  low  forehead,  flattened  nose, 
pinched  lips,  with  keen  little  black  eyes,  irregular  out- 
line of  face,  a  rough  skin,  and  a  voice  like  a  cracked 
bell,  —  in  short,  all  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  a 
consummate  rascal ;  but  he  compensated  for  these  dis- 
advantages by  the  honey  of  his  discourse  ;  he  reached 
his  ends  b}'  talk.  Cavalier,  a  bachelor,  a  plain-dealing 
man,  and  more  like  the  conductor  of  a  diligence  than  a 
publisher,  had  hair  of  washy  fairness,  a  red  face,  the 
heavy  build  and  the  eternal  gabble  of  a  commercial 
traveller. 

"  We  shall  not  have  much  discussion,"  said  Fendant, 
addressing  Lucien  and  Lousteau ;  "I  have  read  the 
work ;  it  is  very  literar}^,  and  suits  us  so  well  that  I 
have  already  sent  the  manuscript  to  the  printers.  The 
agreement  is  drawn  up  on  the  stipulated  terms,  and  we 
always  keep  strictly  to  conditions.  Our  notes  are  for 
six,  nine,  and  twelve  months  ;  you  will  have  no  dif- 
ficulty in  discounting  them,  and  we  will  refund  3'ou  the 
discount.  We  reserve  to  ourselves  the  right  to  give 
another  title  to  the  book,  for  we  do  not  like  that  of 


346     Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

'  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.  ; '  it  does  not  sufficiently 
excite  the  curiosit}^  of  readers  ;  there  are  several  kings 
named  Charles ;  and  in  the  middle  ages  there  were 
great  numbers  of  archers.  Now,  if  you  had  made  it 
'  The  Soldier  of  Napoleon,'  well  and  good  ;  but  '  The 
Archer  of  Charles  IX  ! '  why,  Cavalier  would  be  obliged 
to  give  a  lecture  on  the  history  of  France  for  every  cop}' 
he  sells  in  the  provinces  !  " 

"If  3'ou  onW  knew  the  persons  we  have  to  deal 
with  !  "  cried  Cavalier. 

"  '  The  Saint  Bartholomew '  would  be  a  better  name," 
continued  Fendant. 

"  ^Catherine  de  Medicis,  or  France  under  Charles  IX./ 
would  be  more  like  Walter  Scott,"  said  Cavalier. 

"  Well,  we  can  make  up  our  minds  when  the  work  is 
printed,"  said  Fendant. 

"Whatever  a^ou  like,"  said  Lucien,  "provided  the 
name  suits  me." 

The  agreement  read,  signed,  and  the  duplicates  ex- 
changed, Lucien  put  the  notes  in  his  pocket  with  unal- 
lo3^ed  satisfaction.  Then  all  four  went  up  to  Fendant's 
apartment,  where  the}^  were  regaled  on  the  vulgarest 
of  breakfasts,  —  oysters,  beefsteaks,  kidneys  stewed  in 
champagne,  and  cheese ;  but  these  dishes  were  accom- 
panied with  exquisite  wines,  due  to  Cavalier,  who  knew 
a  traveller  in  the  wine  trade.  Just  as  they  were  sitting 
down  to  table,  the  printer  to  whom  the  novel  was  en- 
trusted astonished  Lucien  by  bringing  him  the  proof  of 
his  two  first  sheets. 

"  We  want  to  get  on  fast,"  said  Fendant ;  "we  ex- 
pect great  things  of  3'our  book,  and  we  are  devilishly  in 
want  of  a  success." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    347 

The  breakfast,  begun  at  twelve  o'clock,  was  not  over 
till  five. 

"Where  shall  I  get  these  notes  discounted?"  said 
Lucien  to  Lousteau  as  they  walked  away. 

"  We  had  better  see  Barbet,'"  replied  Etienne. 


348     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 


XXI. 

JOURNALISTIC    BLACKMAILING. 

The  two  friends,  rather  heated  with  wine,  walked 
down  towards  the  Quai  des  Augustins. 

"  CoraUe  is  immensel}^  surprised  at  Florine's  loss. 
Florine  did  not  tell  her  till  3'esterda3',  and  then  she  laid 
it  all  to  3'ou  ;  she  seemed  bitter  enough  to  wish  to  leave 
you,"  said  Lucien  to  Lousteau. 

"That's  true,"  said  Lousteau,  who  suddenly  threw 
away  his  prudence  and  unbosomed  himself  to  Lucien. 
"  My  friend,  —  for  you  are  m}^  friend,  Lucien  ;  you  lent 
me  a  thousand  francs,  and  have  onl}'  asked  me  for  them 
once,  —  beware  of  \^\fxy.  If  I  had  never  plaj^ed  I  should 
be  prosperous  now.  I  owe  eveiy  man  and  God  and  the 
devil  too.  The  sheriff  is  at  mj-  heels  at  this  moment. 
When  I  go  to  the  Palais-Royal  I  am  forced  to  double 
ever  so  many  dangerous  capes." 

"Doubling  a  cape"  means,  in  the  language  of  the 
viveurs  of  Paris,  turning  out  of  3'our  wa}',  taking  a 
circuitous  path,  to  avoid  either  passing  the  house  of 
a  creditor  or  meeting  him.  Lucien,  who  no  longer  went 
with  absolute  indifference  through  all  the  streets,  knew 
the  manoeuvre,  but  had  never  before  heard  its  name. 

"  Do  you  owe  a  great  deal?" 

"  No,  —  a  trifle,"  replied  Lousteau ;  "  three  thousand 
francs  would  clear  me.     I  have  tried  to  pull  up  ;  I  have 


Great  Man  of  the  Provmces  in  Paris.    349 

stopped  playing ;  and  I  have  even,  in  order  to  pa}-  m}' 
debts,  done  a  little  chantage^ 

"  What  is  chantage? ^^  asked  Lucien,  who  had  never 
heard  the  word. 

"  Chantage  is  an  invention  of  the  English  press  ;  they 
call  it  •  blackmailing.'  Those  who  practise  it  are  so 
placed  that  the}'  can  influence  newspapers.  The  pro- 
prietor of  a  paper,  or  an  editor-in-chief  is  supposed  to 
know  nothing  about  it.  There  is  alwa3's  some  one  on 
hand,  —  a  Giroudeau  or  a  Philippe  Bridau.  Those  hire- 
lings find  a  man  who,  for  some  reason  or  other,  wants  to 
escape  notice.  A  great  many  persons  have  peccadilloes 
on  their  consciences  that  are  ver}"  original.  There  are 
lots  of  queer  fortunes  in  Paris  obtained  in  waj's  that 
are  more  or  less  legal  or  illegal,  —  often  by  criminal 
manoeuvres  which  furnish  uncommonl}'  amusing  stories  ; 
such,  for  instance,  as  that  of  Fouche's  gendarmerie  sur- 
rounding the  spies  of  the  minister  himself  and  not 
being  in  the  secret  of  the  forging  of  the  English  bank- 
notes, were  just  on  the  point  of  seizing  the  minister's 
own  clandestine  printers ;  or  the  history  of  Prince 
Galathione's  diamond ;  or  the  Maubreuil  affair,  and 
the  Pombreton  will  case,  etc.  The  blackmailer  obtains 
certain  evidence,  —  an  important  document,  perhaps, — 
and  he  asks  for  an  interview  with  the  rich  man.  If  the 
man  who  is  compromised  will  not  pay  a  certain  sum, 
the  blackmailer  lets  him  know  that  the  newspaper  press 
is  all  ready  to  divulge  his  secret.  The  rich  man  is 
frightened ;  he  negotiates ;  and  the  trick  is  played. 
Perhaps  you  have  some  risky  enterprise  on  hand  which 
ma}'  fail  if  the  newspapers  get  wind  of  it.  A  chanteur 
is  sent  to  you  with  an  offer  to  buy  ofl"  the  articles. 


350     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

There  are  ministers  of  state  to  whom  chanteurs  are 
sent,  and  who  stipulate  with  them  that  the  paper  may 
attack  their  poUtical  acts,  but  not  their  personal  doings. 
There  are  others  who  will  sometimes  give  themselves 
up  on  condition  that  their  mistresses  shall  not  be  at- 
tacked. Des  Lupeaulx  —  that  fine  Master  of  petitions  — 
is  constantly  negotiating  in  this  waj'  with  journalists. 
The  fellow  has  made  himself  a  wonderful  position  in 
the  centre  of  power  by  just  such  relations.  He  is  both 
an  agent  of  the  press  and  the  ambassador  of  the  minis- 
ters ;  he  works  upon  all  fears  and  self-loves ;  he  plays 
the  same  game  in  politics,  and  bu3's  the  silence  of  the 
papers  as  to  some  loan,  or  some  concession  desirable 
to  be  made  without  publicity ;  here  those  Ij'nxes,  the 
liberal  bankers,  get  a  share  of  the  spoils.  You  3'ourself 
did  a  little  chantage  with  Dauriat ;  he  gave  3'ou  three 
thousand  francs  not  to  write  down  Nathan,  and  called 
it  buying  3'our  '  Daisies.'  In  the  eighteenth  century-, 
when  journalism  was  in  swaddling-clothes,  chantage 
was  done  b}'  means  of  pamphlets,  the  destruction  of 
which  was  bought  by  favorites  and  great  seigneurs. 
The  inventor  of  blackmailing  was  Aretino,  a  very 
great  Italian  of  the  fifteenth  centur}',  who  made  kings 
precisel}'  as  the  journals  of  the  present  day  make 
actresses." 

"  What  did  you  do  against  Matifat  to  get  3'our  three 
thousand  francs  ?  " 

"I  had  Florine  attacked  in  six  papers,  and  Florine 
complained  to  Matifat.  Matifat  begged  Braulard  to 
find  out  the  cause  of  those  attacks.  Braulard  was 
fooled  b}^  Finot,  for  I  was  doing  the  chantage.,  and 
he  told  the  druggist  that  you  were  demolishing  Florine 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    351 

in  the  interests  of  Coralie.  Giroucleau  then  told  Mati- 
fat  confidentially  that  it  could  all  be  manaored  if  he 
would  sell  his  sixth  of  the  weekly  paper  to  Finot 
for  ten  thousand  francs.  Finot  was  to  give  me  three 
thousand  in  case  of  success.  Matifat  was  just  about 
to  conclude  the  affair,  glad  enough  to  recover  ten 
thousand  of  his  thirty  thousand,  which  he  thought 
as  good  as  lost ;  for  Florine  had  begun  to  tell  him 
the  paper  was  doing  badly.  But  the  manager  of  the 
Panorama-Dramatique  had  some  notes  he  wanted  to 
negotiate,  and  in  order  to  get  Matifat  to  take  them 
he  told  him  of  the  crick  that  Finot  was  playing  him. 
Matifat,  who  has  a  shrewd  business  head,  saw  the 
whole  affair.  He  left  Florine,  kept  his  sixth,  and  is 
now  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  us.  Finot  and  I  howled 
in  despair.  We  had  had  the  ill  luck  to  tackle  a  man 
who  did  n't  reall}'  love  his  mistress,  —  a  miserable  fellow 
without  heart  or  soul.  Unhappilj'  his  business  isn't 
one  that  the  press  can  touch.  You  can't  criticise  a 
druggist  as  you  would  bonnets,  or  fashions,  or  theatres, 
or  matters  of  art.  Cocoa  and  pepper  and  pigments, 
or  tinctures  or  opium,  can't  be  depreciated  in  value  by 
a  newspaper  article.  Florine  is  in  a  dreadful  state. 
The  Panorama-Dramatique  closes  to-morrow,  and  she 
has  no  engagement." 

"  Coralie  makes  her  first  appearance  at  the  Gymnase 
in  the  course  of  a  few  days,"  said  Lucien ;  "perhaps 
she  can  help  Florine." 

"Never!"  said  Lousteau.  "Coralie  hasn't  much 
mind,  but  she  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to  give  herself  a 
rival.  No  ;  our  affairs  are  well-nigh  ruined.  But  Finot 
is  in  such  a  worry  to  get  back  his  sixth." 


352     Great  Mmi  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

u  Why  ?  " 

"Because  the  business  is  an  excellent  one.  He  has 
a  chance  to  sell  out  the  paper  for  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  Finot  would  get  a  third,  plus  a  commis- 
sion paid  by  his  partners,  which  latter  he  will  have  to 
share  with  des  Lupeaulx.  So  I  'm  going  to  propose 
to  him  a  bit  of  chantage ^ 

'"''Chantage  seems  to  be  '  Your  mone}'  or  your  life  !  *  " 

"Better  still,"  said  Lousteau  ;  "  it  is  'Your  money 
or  3'our  honor  ! '  Onk  last  week  one  of  the  little  jour- 
nals, to  whose  proprietor  a  credit  had  been  refused, 
stated  that  a  watch  set  in  diamonds  belonging  to  a 
notability  of  the  town  had  been  found  in  the  possession 
of  a  soldier  of  the^royal  guard,  and  the  facts  were  prom- 
ised in  another  number.  The  notability  hastened  to 
invite  the  editor-in-chief  to  dinner.  The  editor-in-chief 
certainl}'  gained  something,  but  contemporaneous  history 
has  lost  a  choice  anecdote.  Whenever  you  see  the  press 
in  pursuit  of  men  in  power,  you  may  be  sure  that  behind 
it  all  there  is  some  discount  denied,  some  service  they 
refuse  to  render.  Blackmailing  in  relation  to  private 
life  is  what  rich  Englishmen  are  most  afraid  of;  it  is  a 
large  item  in  the  revenues  of  the  British  press,  which  is 
infinitel3'  more  depraved  than  ours.  We  are  mere  chil- 
dren at  it.  In  Pjigland  the}'  will  pay  five  or  six  thou- 
sand francs  for  a  compromising  letter  merely  to  sell  it 
back  to  the  writer." 

"How  are  3'ou  going  to  pinch  Matifat?"  said 
Lucien. 

"  M3' dear  fellow,"  said  Lousteau,  "  that  old  villain 
has  written  the  queerest  letters  to  Florine,  —  spelling, 
grammar,  thoughts,  intensel}^  comic !     JNIatifat  is  des- 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    353 

perately  afraid  of  his  wife.  We  can,  without  naming 
him  or  giving  him  any  chance  to  lay  hold  of  us,  attack 
him  in  the  veiy  bosom  of  his  lares  and  penates,  where 
he  thinks  himself  safe.  Imai^ine  his  fury  when  he  sees 
the  first  number  of  a  little  tale  entitled  '  The  Loves  of 
a  Druggist,'  after  he  has  been  dul}'  informed  that  acci- 
dent had  put  into  the  hands  of  such  and  such  a  news- 
paper a  series  of  his  letters,  in  which  he  calls  '  Cupid ' 
Cuhid,  and  writes  '  never '  nefer.  There 's  enough  in 
that  eminently  funn}'  correspondence  to  keep  subscrib- 
ers rushing  in  for  a  fortnight.  He  will  also  be  threat- 
ened with  an  anonymous  letter  to  his  wife  putting  her 
on  the  scent.  The  question  is,  will  Florine  let  herself 
appear  to  be  persecuting  Matifat?  Siie  still  has  prin- 
ciples, —  that  is,  hopes.  Perhaps  she  wants  to  keep 
the  letters  for  herself  and  make  her  own  profit  out 
of  them.  She  is  sly;  she's  my  pupil.  But  if  Finot 
makes  her  a  suitable  present,  or  holds  out  the  hope  of 
an  engagement,  she  will  give  me  the  letters,  which  1 
shall  deliver  to  Finot,  —  for  a  consideration.  Finot 
will  then  deliver  the  correspondence  to  his  uncle,  and 
Giroudeau  will  bring  Matifat  to  terms." 

This  confidence  sobered  Lucien.  His  first  thought 
was  that  he  had  very  dangerous  friends ;  then  he  re- 
flected that  he  had  better  not  break  away  from  them  ; 
because  if  Madame  d'Espard,  Madame  de  Barge  ton, 
and  du  Chatelet  failed  him,  he  might  want  their  terrible 
assistance.  B}'  this  time  Lucien  and  Lousteau  had 
reached  the  miserable  shop  of  Barbet  on  the  qua3^ 

''Barbet,"  said  Etienne,  "  here  are  notes  of  Fendant 
and  Cavalier  for  five  thousand  francs,  at  six,  nine,  and 
twelve  months  ;  will  3'ou  discount  them  ?  " 

23 


354     Great  3Ian  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

"  I  '11  take  them  for  three  thousand  ! ''  said  Barbet, 
with  imperturbable  calmness. 

"  Three  thousand  francs  !  "  cried  Lucien. 

"You  won't  get  as  much  anywhere  else,"  remarked 
Barbet.  ' '  That  firm  will  fail  within  three  months  ;  but 
I  know  the}'  have  some  good  solid  works,  with  a  sure 
but  slow  sale  which  they  can't  wait  for.  I  can  bu}'  the 
whole  and  pay  them  in  their  own  notes.  In  that  wa}'  I 
get  the  books  for  two  thousand  francs  less  than  cost." 

"Are  3'ou  willing  to  lose  two  thousand  francs?  "  said 
Etienne  to  Lucien. 

"  No  I  "  cried  Lucien,  horrified  at  this  first  rebuff. 

"You  are  wrong,"  replied  Etienne. 

"You  can't  negotiate  their  paper  anywhere,"  said 
Barbet.  "Your  book  is  Fendant  and  Cavalier's  last 
throw  in  the  game.  They  can't  print  it  except  by 
agreeing  to  leave  the  copies  in  the  hands  of  the  print- 
ers;  and  a  success  would  only  save  them  for  six  months; 
sooner  or  later,  the}'  are  bound  to  burst  up.  Those  men 
do  more  tippling  than  bookselling.  As  for  me,  their 
notes  would  be  a  means  of  doing  a  stroke  of  business, 
and  that  is  wh}'  I  offei'  you  more  than  you  can  get  from 
the  regular  brokers,  who  consider  onl}-  the  value  of  each 
signature.  It  is  the  business  of  brokers  to  know  if  all 
three  signatures  would  each  give  thirty  per  cent  in  case 
of  failure.  Here  you  have  onl}^  two  signatures,  and 
neither  is  worth  ten  per  cent." 

The  two  friends  looked  at  each  other  surprised  to 
hear  from  the  lips  of  such  a  cub  an  analj'sis  which  gave 
in  a  few  words  the  very  essence  of  discounting. 

"Come,  no  preaching,  Barbet,"  said  Lousteau.  "  To 
what  broker  had  we  better  go  ?  " 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.     355 

"  Old  Chaboisseaii,  quai  Saint-Michel ;  he  does  busi- 
ness for  Fendant  and  Cavalier.  If  you  refuse  mj^  pro- 
posal, you  had  better  see  him.  But  I  warn  you  you  '11 
come  back  to  me,  and  then  I  won't  give  more  than  two 
thousand  five  hundred." 

Etienne  and  Lucien  went  to  the  quai  Saint-Michel  to 
a  small  house  up  an  alle}^,  and  found  Chaboisseau  on 
the  second  floor,  in  an  apartment  most  originally  fur- 
nished.     This  irregular  banker,  who  was,   however,  a 
millionnaire,  was  fond  of  the  Grecian  style.     The  cor- 
nice of  the  room   was    Grecian.      The    bed,   standing 
lengthways  against  the  wall,  as  in  the  background  of  a 
picture  by  David,  was   exquisitely  pure  in   form,  and 
classically  draped  in  purple  stuffs  of  the  Empire  period, 
when  everything  was  imitated  from  Grecian  art.     The 
chairs,   tables,   lamps,   candlesticks  —  in    fact,   all   the 
accessories  —  had    the    delicate,    fragile,    but    elegant 
grace  of  the  antique.      These  airy  mythological    sur- 
roundings formed  a  curious  contrast  to  the  habits  and 
wa3's  of  the  broker.     It  is  observable  that  the   most 
fantastic  of  human  beings  are  among  the  men  who  are 
given  to  the  business  of  handling  money.     Being  able 
to  possess  all,  and  consequently  sated  and  sick  of  it  all, 
they  will  take  the  greatest  pains  to  find  some  escape 
from  their  satiet3\     Whoever  will  study  this  class  of 
men  will  usually  find  some  mania,  some  spot  in  their 
hearts,  about  which  they  are  sensitive.      Chaboisseau 
appeared  to  be  intrenched  in  antiquity  as  in  a  fortified 
camp. 

He  was  a  little  man  with  powdered  hair,  wearing  a 
greenish  coat,  nut-colored  waistcoat,  and  black  breeches 
terminating  in  mottled  stockings  and  shoes  that  creaked. 


356     G-7'eat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

He  took  the  notes,  examined  them,  and  returned  them 
to  Lucien,  gravel}'. 

"Messrs.  Fendant  and  Cavalier  are  charming  fel- 
lows, —  young  men  full  of  intelligence ;  but  at  this 
moment  I  have  no  mone}',"  he  said  in  a  gentle  voice. 

"  M}^  friend  won't  make  difficulties  about  the  dis- 
count," said  £tienne. 

"I  could  not  take  those  notes  on  an}^  terms,"  said 
the  little  old  man,  whose  words  cut  short  Lousteau's 
suggestion  as  the  knife  of  a  guillotine  cuts  off  the  head 
of  a  man. 

The  two  friends  retired.  As  they  crossed  the  ante- 
chamber, to  which  point  Chaboisseau  had  prudently 
conducted  them,  Lucien  suddenl}^  spied  among  a  heap 
of  second-hand  books  which  the  broker,  once  a  pub- 
lisher, had  evidently  just  bought,  the  great  work  of  the 
architect  Ducerceau  on  the  royal  palaces  and  celebrated 
chateaus  of  France,  the  designs  of  which  are  given  in 
this  book  with  extreme  care  and  exactness. 

""  Will  3'ou  let  me  have  this  book?"  asked  Lucien. 

"Yes,"  said  the  broker,  becoming  a  bookseller. 

"What  price?" 

"  Fifty  francs." 

"  That  is  dear,  but  I  want  the  book  ;  still  I  can  onlj'- 
pay  you  with  these  notes  which  you  refuse  to  take." 

"You  have  one  there  for  five  hundred  francs  at  six 
months ;  I  '11  take  that,"  said  Chaboisseau,  who  no 
doubt  owed  Fendant  and  Cavalier  some  small  balance 
on  account. 

The  two  friends  returned  to  the  Greek  chamber, 
where  Chaboisseau  made  out  a  little  memorandum  of 
six  per  cent  interest  and  six  per  cent  commission ;  in 


Great  3Ian  of  the  Proviyices  in  Paris.        357 

all,  a  deduction  of  thirt}'  francs.  This  he  added  to 
the  sum  of  fifty  for  the  Ducerceau,  and  took  from  his 
desk,  which  was  full  of  coin,  four  hundred  and  twent}' 
francs. 

"Ah,  9a!  Monsieur  Chaboisseau !  those  notes  are 
either  all  good  or  all  bad  ;  why  won't  you  discount  the 
rest?" 

"I  am  not  discounting  notes;  I  am  pa3'ing  m^'self 
for  a  sale,"  said  the  old  man. 

Etienne  and  Lucien  were  still  laughing  over  Chabois- 
seau, without  understanding  him,  when  the\'  reached 
Dauriat's,  where  Lousteau  requested  Gabusson  to  tell 
them  of  a  good  broker.  The  two  friends  took  a  cabrio- 
let b}^  the  hour  and  drove  to  the  faubourg  Poissonniere, 
armed  with  a  letter  of  introduction  which  Gabusson 
gave  them  to  what  he  called  "the  queerest  of  human 
beings." 

"  If  Samanon  won't  take  3'our  notes,"  added  Gabus- 
son, "  no  one  will." 

Second-hand  dealer  in  books  on  the  first  floor,  ditto 
for  coats  on  the  second  floor,  vendor  of  prohibited  en- 
gravings on  the  third,  Samanon  was  a  money-lender  on 
all.  None  of  the  personages  introduced  into  HoflTmann's 
novels,  not  one  of  Walter  Scott's  infernal  misers,  can 
compare  with  what  social  and  Parisian  human  nature 
had  allowed  itself  to  create  in  this  man, — if,  indeed, 
Samanon  is  a  man.  Lucien  could  not  repress  a  gesture 
of  horror  at  the  aspect  of  that  withered  old  creature, 
whose  bones  seemed  trying  to  pierce  through  his  thor- 
oughly tanned  hide,  which  was  blotched  with  numerous 
green  and  3'ellow  spots,  like  a  picture  of  Titian  or  Paul 
Veronese  seen  near  b}'.     One  e3'e  was  motionless  and 


358     Qreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

stony,  the  other  sharp  and  shinhig.  The  miser,  who 
appeared  to  employ  the  dead  eye  when  discounting,  and 
the  other  when  selling  his  obscene  pictures,  wore  a 
small,  flat  wig  of  a  black  bordering  on  rust}',  beneath 
which  his  white  hair  bristled  ;  his  yellow  forehead  had 
a  threatening  aspect ;  his  cheeks  were  sunken  squarely 
from  the  line  of  the  jaws  ;  the  teeth,  still  white,  showed 
behind  his  lips,  like  those  of  a  horse  when  it  yawns.  The 
contrast  between  the  eyes  and  the  strange  grimacing  of 
that  mouth  gave  him  an  almost  ferocious  air ;  the  hairs 
of  his  beard,  hard  and  sharp,  must  surely  have  pricked 
like  pins.  A  ragged  old  coat  which  had  reached  the 
stage  of  tinder,  a  faded  black  cravat  worn  to  threads  by 
his  beard,  and  exposing  a  neck  as  wrinkled  as  a  turkey's, 
showed  little  desire  on  the  miser's  part  to  modify  a  sin- 
ister countenance  b}'  the  advantages  of  dress. 

The  two  journalists  found  this  man  seated  in  a  dirt}^ 
oflace  employed  in  gumming  labels  on  the  backs  of  a 
pile  of  old  books  bought  apparently  at  auction.  Lucien 
and  Lousteau,  after  exchanging  a  glance  full  of  ques- 
tions innumerable  excited  by  the  mere  existence  of  such 
a  being,  presented  Gabusson's  letter  and  the  notes  of 
Messrs.  Fendant  and  Cavalier.  While  Samanon  was 
reading  them  another  person  entered  the  dark  and 
dingy  place.  This  was  a  well-known  man,  of  distin- 
guished intellect,  dressed  in  an  old  frock  coat  which 
seemed  to  have  been  cut  out  of  zinc,  so  solidified  was 
it  by  an  accretion  of  many  foreign  substances. 

"I  want  my  coat,  m^'  black  trousers,  and  my  satin 
waistcoat,"  he  said  to  Samanon,  holding  out  to  him  a 
numbered  card. 

As  soon  as  Samanon  had  pulled  the  brass  handle  of 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  JParis.    359 

a  bell,  a  woman,  who  seemed  to  be  Norman  by  her  fresh 
and  rosy  complexion,  came  down  the  stairs. 

"  Lend  monsieur  his  clothes,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
the  distinguished  author.  "  There  is  some  pleasure  in 
dealing  with  you  ;  but  one  of  your  friends  brought  me 
a  little  young  man  who  brutally  tricked  me." 

"Tricked  him/  oh!  oh!"  said  the  author  to  the 
two  journalists,  pointing  to  Samanon  with  an  irresis- 
tibl}^  comic  gesture. 

The  great  writer  gave,  like  the  lazzaroni  who  redeem 
their  best  clothes  on  feast-days  from  the  pawn-shops, 
thirt}'  sous  into  the  3XII0W,  wrinkled  hand  of  the  broker, 
who  dropped  them  into  the  drawer  of  his  desk. 

"This  is  a  singular  business  for  3'ou  !  "  said  Lou- 
steau  to  the  new-comer,  whom  he  knew,  —  a  victim  of 
opium,  who  lived  absorbed  in  contemplation  in  a  palace 
of  enchantment,  and  either  would  not  or  could  not  any 
longer  use  his  creative  powers. 

"  Samanon  lends  more  on  such  articles  than  the  pawn- 
brokers do ;  and  he  has,  moreover,  the  awful  charitj'  of 
letting  3'ou  take  out  3'our  clothes  if  there  comes  a  neces- 
sity to  wear  them,"  was  the  answer.  '^I  am  going  to  dine 
at  the  Kellers'  to-night  with  m\'  mistress.  It  is  easier  for 
me  to  get  thirt}'  sous  to  borrow  my  clothes  than  two  hun- 
dred francs  to  redeem  them  ;  so  I  fetch  m}'  dress  suit, 
which  for  the  last  six  months  has  brought  in  something 
like  a  hundred  francs  to  this  charitable  usurer.  Samanon 
has  alreadv  devoured  mv  librarv,  book  bv  book." 

"And  sou  b}'  sou,"  said  Lousteau,  laughing. 

"  I  '11  give  you  fifteen  hundred  francs  for  those  notes !  " 
said  Samanon  to  Lucien. 

Lucien  gave  a  jump  as  if  the  broker  had  thrust  a  red- 


360     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces   of  Paris. 

hot  skewer  through  his  head.  Samanon  looked  the 
notes  over  carefully  and  examhied  the  dates. 

"And  even  then,"  said  the  usurer,  "  I  must  first  see 
Fendant,  who  ought  to  secure  them  with  books.  You 
are  not  worth  much,"  he  added,  looking  at  Lucien ; 
"  3^ou  are  living  on  Coralie,  and  your  furniture  is 
attached." 

Lousteau  looked  at  Lucien,  who  seized  his  notes  and 
darted  from  the  shop  to  the  boulevard,  crying  out, 
"He's  the  devil!" 

There  he  turned  and  contemplated  that  miserable 
shop,  so  pitiable  and  debased  with  its  shelves  of 
shabby,  dirty  books,  and  the  poet  asked  himself:  — 

"  What  business  is  done  there?" 

At  that  instant  the  great  unknown,  who  was  destined 
to  take  part  ten  years  later  in  the  vast  but  baseless 
enterprise  of  the  Saint-Simonians,  came  out  of  the 
house  extremely  well  dressed,  smiled  at  the  two  jour- 
nalists, and  accompanied  them  as  far  as  the  passage 
des  Panoramas,  where  he  stopped  to  complete  his  toilet 
by  having  his  boots  blacked. 

"  When  you  see  Samanon  enter  the  shop  of  a  pub- 
lisher, a  paper-maker,  or  a  printer,  you  may  know  the}' 
are  lost,"  said  the  author  to  the  journalists.  "  Samanon 
is  the  undertaker  who  has  come  to  take  a  measure  for 
the  coffin." 

"You  won't  get  your  notes  discounted  now?"  said 
Etienne  to  Lucien. 

"If  Samanon  refuses,"  said  the  stranger,  "no  one 
will  accept ;  he  is  the  ultima  ratio.  Gigonnet,  de 
Palma,  Werbrust,  Gobseck,  and  other  crocodiles  who 
float  in  the  Parisian  money  market,  and  with  whom, 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       361 

sooner  or  later,  all  men  with  fortunes  to  make  or  un- 
make have  to  do,  employ  him  as  their  scout." 

"  If  you  can't  discount  your  notes  at  fifty  per  cent," 
said  Etienne,  "  there 's  another  thing  you  can  do." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Lucien. 

"Give  them  to  Coralie,  and  let  her  ask  Camusot  to 
cash  them.  Oh!  you  don't  like  to,  hey?"  continued 
Lousteau,  as  Lucien  gave  a  bound.  "What  childish- 
ness !  How  can  you  let  such  nonsense  outweigh  your 
future?" 

"  I  shall  carry  these  four  hundred  francs  to  Coralie, 
at  anv  rate,"  said  Lucien. 

"That's  another  folly!"  cried  Lousteau.  "Four 
hundred  francs  will  do  no  good  where  you  want  four 
thousand.  Better  keep  out  enough  to  get  drunk  on  if 
you  lose,  and  pla}'  the  rest." 

"That's  good  advice,"  said  the  stranger. 

The}'  were  ten  feet  from  Frascati's,  and  the  words 
had  a  magnetic  charm.  The  two  friends  went  up  the 
stairs  and  began  to  play.  At  first  they  won  three 
thousand  francs  ;  then  lost  to  five  hundred  ;  then  went 
up  to  three  thousand  seven  hundred.  Here  they  dropped 
again  to  five  francs  ;  then  went  up  to  two  thousand  ; 
risked  them,  double  or  quits,  on  the  even  number ;  the 
even  number  had  not  passed  for  five  rounds,  and  they 
punted  the  whole  sum  ;  the  uneven  came  out.  Lucien 
and  Lousteau  rushed  down  the  staircase  of  that  famous 
resort,  having  wasted  two  hours  in  destructive  emo- 
tions. The}^  had  kept  back  one  hundred  francs.  On 
the  steps  of  that  well-known  little  portico,  with  its  two 
columns  supporting  the  tin  canopy  which  man}'  an  eye 
has  contemplated  in  hope  and  in  despair,  Lousteau  said, 


362       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Payns. 

as  he  noticed  Lucien's  burning  glance,  "Don't  let  us 
spend  more  than  fifty  francs  for  supper." 

They  turned  back.  In  one  hour  the}^  had  three  thou- 
sand francs.  These  the}'  punted  on  the  red,  which  had 
passed  five  times,  thinking  to  reverse  their  former  ill 
luck.     Black  issued.     It  was  then  six  o'clock. 

"  We  can  dine  for  twent3'-five  francs,"  said  Lucien. 

This  new  attempt  was  a  brief  one  ;  the  twentj-five 
francs  were  lost  in  ten  turns.  Lucien  fiung  his  last 
twent3'-five  frantically  on  the  number  of  his  own  age 
and  won.  Nothing  can  describe  the  trembling  of  his 
hand  as  he  took  the  rake  and  drew  in  the  coins  which 
the  banker  threw  him  one  b}^  one.  He  gave  ten  louis 
to  Lousteau,  saying  :   "  Get  awa}^  to  Very's  !  " 

Lousteau  understood  him  and  went  to  order  dinner. 
Lucien,  left  alone,  placed  his  thirty  remaining  louis  on 
the  red  and  won.  Emboldened  by  the  secret  voice  to 
which  all  gamblers  listen,  he  left  the  whole  sum  on  the 
red  and  won  again.  His  stomach  became  like  a  fur- 
nace. Not  listening  this  time  to  the  voice,  he  put  his 
twelve  hundred  francs  on  the  black  and  lost.  He  then 
felt  within  him  that  delicious  sensation  which  suc- 
ceeds the  dreadful  agitations  of  gamblers  when,  having 
nothing  more  to  lose,  they  leave  the  flaming  palace 
of  their  spasmodic  dream.  He  rejoined  Lousteau  at 
Ver3''s,  where  he  hurled  himself  (to  use  La  Fontaine's 
expression)  into  cooker^",  and  drowned  his  cares  in 
wine.  At  nine  o'clock  he  was  so  completely  drunk 
that  he  could  not  understand  why  his  porter  in  the  rue 
de  Vendome  told  him  to  go  to  the  rue  de  la  Lune. 

"Mademoiselle  Coralie  has  moved  to  the  address 
written  on  this  paper,"  explained  the  porter. 


Great  Man  of  the  Proviiices  in  Paris.      368 

Lucien,  too  drunk  to  be  surprised  b}-  an3'thing,  got 
back  into  the  hackney-coach  which  had  brought  him, 
and  ordered  the  man  to  drive  to  the  rue  de  la  Lune, 
making  jokes  to  himself*  as  he  went  along  on  that 
attractive  name. 

During  that  morning  the  failure  of  the  Panorama- 
Dramatique  had  become  known.  Coralie,  much  fright- 
ened, hastened  to  get  permission  of  her  creditors  to  sell 
the  furniture  to  old  Cardot,  who  was  willing  to  put 
Florentine  into  the  apartment.  Coralie  paid  off  every- 
thing, and  satisfied  the  owner  of  the  house.  While  this 
operation,  which  she  called  her  "grand  washing  da}-," 
went  on,  Berenice  was  furnishing  with  a  few  indispen- 
sable articles  a  little  apartment  of  three  rooms  on  the 
fourth  floor  of  a  house  in  the  rue  de  la  Lune,  which  was 
close  to  Coralie's  new  theatre,  the  Gymnase.  Here  she 
awaited  Lucien,  having  saved  from  the  shipwreck  her 
love  and  twelve  hundred  francs  in  money.  Lucien, 
still  intoxicated,  related  all  his  troubles  to  Coralie  and 
Berenice. 

"You  did  right,  my  angel,"  said  Coralie.  "  Be're- 
nice  can  make  Braulard  take  those  notes." 

The  next  day  Coralie  outdid  herself  in  love  and  ten- 
derness, as  if  to  compensate  her  lover  with  the  best 
treasures  of  her  heart  for  the  indigence  of  this  new 
home.  She  glowed  with  beauty  ;  her  hair  escaped  from 
the  white  silk  foulard  twisted  round  it ;  her  eves  were 
laughing ;  her  words  as  gay  as  the  beams  of  the  rising 
sun  which  came  through  the  windows  as  if  to  gild  their 
poverty.  The  room,  which  was  quite  decent,  had  a 
pale-green  paper  with  a  red  border ;  there  were  two 
mirrors,  —  one   OA^er   the    fireplace,    another   over   the 


364       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

bureau.  A  cheap  carpet,  bought  b}^  Berenice  with  iier 
own  savings,  hid  the  bare  brick  floor.  The  clothes  of 
the  lovers  were  put  awaj'  in  a  wardrobe  with  a  glass 
door  and  in  the  bureau.  The  mahogany  furniture  was 
covered  with  a  blue  cotton  stuff.  Berenice  had  saved 
from  the  shipwreck  a  clock  and  two  vases,  four  pairs  of 
forks  and  spoons,  and  six  silver  teaspoons.  The  dining- 
room,  which  was  next  to  the  bedroom,  was  hke  that  of 
a  clerk  living  on  a  salary  of  twelve  hundred  francs. 
The  kitchen  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  landing. 
Berenice  had  a  bedroom  upstairs  in  the  garret.  The 
rent  was  onl}'  three  hundred  francs.  This  miserable 
house  had  no  porte-cochere  ;  the  porter's  lodge  was  in 
an  angle  of  the  entrance,  where,  through  a  small  sash- 
window,  he  kept  watch  over  the  seventeen  different 
tenants  of  the  house.  This  beehive  was  what  notaries 
call  a  productive  investment.  Lucien  saw  a  secretary, 
an  armchair,  pens,  paper,  and  ink,  all  read}'  for  him. 
The  gayety  of  Berenice,  who  counted  on  the  engage- 
ment at  the  Gymnase,  that  of  Coralie,  who  was  stud3'ing 
her  part,  tied  with  a  light-blue  ribbon,  drove  awaj'  the 
anxiet}'  and  the  sadness  of  the  now  sober  poet. 

"Provided  no  one  finds  out  about  our  fall,''  he  said, 
"  we  shall  come  out  of  it  all  right.  After  all,  we  have 
four  thousand  five  hundred  francs  to  the  fore  !  I  shall 
negotiate  those  notes,  and  I  am  going  to  make  the  most 
of  my  new  position  on  the  royalist  newspapers.  To- 
morrow we  inau2;urate  the  '  Reveil.'  I  now  understand 
journalism  thoroughl}-.  You  '11  see  I  shall  make  my 
mark ! " 

Coralie,  who  saw  only  love  in  these  words,  kissed  the 
lips  that  said  them. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    365 


XXII. 


CHANGE    OF    FRONT. 


At  this  instant,  when  Berenice  had  drawn  the  table 
before  the  fire,  and  served  a  modest  breakfast  consisting 
of  scrambled  eggs,  two  cutlets,  and  coffee  and  cream,  a 
knock  was  heard  on  the  door.  Three  sincere  friends  — 
Daniel  d'Arthez,  Leon  Giraud,  and  Michel  Chrestien 
—  appeared  to  the  astonished  ej'es  of  Lucien,  who, 
deeply  touched  by  their  visit,  begged  them  to  stay  and 
share  his  breakfast. 

''No,"  said  d'Arthez,  "we  have  come  on  a  more 
serious  matter  than  mere  consolation.  We  know  all, 
for  we  have  been  to  the  rue  de  Vendome.  You  know 
ra}^  political  opinions,  Lucien.  Under  any  other  cir- 
cumstances I  should  rejoice  to  see  you  adopting  my 
convictions  ;  but  in  the  situation  where  you  have  placed 
yourself  by  writing  for  the  liberal  journals,  you  cannot 
pass  into  the  ranks  of  the  ultras  without  injuring  your 
character  and  perhaps  destroying  3'our  future.  We 
have  come  to  beg  3'ou,  in  the  name  of  our  friendship, 
weakened  though  it  has  been  lately,  not  to  sully  3'our- 
self  in  this  wa}'.  You  have  attacked  the  Right,  the 
Romanticists,  and  the  government ;  3'ou  cannot  now 
defend  either  the  Romanticists,  the  government,  or  the 
Right." 

"  The  reasons  that  actuate  me  are  those  of  a  higher 


366     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

order  of  thought,"  said  Lucien.     "The  end  will  jus- 
tify all." 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  fully  understand  the  situation," 
said  Leon  Giraud.  "The  government,  the  court,  the 
Bourbons,  the  absolutist  party,  —  call  it,  if  you  prefer 
a  comprehensive  expression,  the  system  opposed  to  the 
constitutional  system,  —  which  is  divided  into  many 
divergent  fractions  as  regards  the  means  of  smothering 
the  Revolution,  is  of  one  mind  as  to  the  necessity  of 
curbing  the  press.  The  'Reveil,'  the  '  Foudre,'  the 
'  Drapeau  Blanc,'  were  all  started  for  the  express 
purpose  of  replying  to  the  calumnies,  insults,  and  sar- 
casms of  the  liberal  press,  — which,"  he  added,  making 
a  parenthesis,  "  I  do  not  approve  of;  and  this  degra- 
dation of  our  sacred  mission  is  precisely  what  is  leading 
us  to  publish  a  grave  and  dignified  paper,  the  respect- 
able and  worthy  influence  of  which  will  be  felt  before 
long,  —  well,  this  ministerialist  and  royalist  artillery-  in 
which  you  are  about  to  enlist  is  onlj'  a  first  attempt  at 
reprisals,  undertaken  to  give  back  thrust  for  thrust  and 
wound  for  wound.  What  do  3'ou  think  will  be  the  end 
of  it,  Lucien?  The  majority'  of  subscribers  are  with 
the  Left.  In  journalism,  as  in  war,  victory  is  on  the 
side  of  the  big  battalions.  You  will  be  the  scoundrels, 
the  liars,  the  enemies  of  the  people  ;  the  other  side 
will  be  the  defenders  of  the  nation,  honorable  men, 
mart3'rs ;  though  more  hypocritical,  it  ma}'  be,  more 
treacherous,  than  you.  All  this  will  only  increase  the 
pernicious  influence  of  the  press,  b}^  legitimatizing  its 
already  odious  methods.  Insults  and  personalities  will 
become  its  acknowledged  right,  adopted  to  swell  sub- 
scriptions and  sanctioned  by  reciprocal  custom.     When 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    367 

the  evil  becomes  obvious  to  its  fullest  extent,  restric- 
tive and  prohibitory  laws  and  the  censorship  —  first 
imposed  after  the  assassination  of  the  Due  de  Berry, 
and  withdrawn  since  the  opening  of  the  Chambers  — 
will  return.  Do  yon  know  what  the  French  people  will 
think  of  all  this?  The}'  will  listen  to  the  insinuations 
of  the  liberal  press  ;  they  will  believe  that  the  Bourbons 
mean  to  attack  and  overthrow  the  material  results  of 
the  Revolution,  and  the}'  will  rise  in  their  might  some 
da}"  and  overthrow  the  Bourbons.  Not  only  are  you 
now  soihng  your  name,  your  life,  but  you  are  putting 
yourself  on  the  losing  side.  You  are  too  young ;  too 
new  to  the  ways  of  the  press  ;  you  don't  know  enough 
of  the  secret  springs  and  passwords  ;  you  have  already 
excited  too  much  jealousy  to  stand  the  hue  and  cry 
they  '11  make  against  you  in  the  liberal  journals.  You  '11 
be  swept  away  by  the  fury  of  parties,  which  are  still  in 
the  paroxysms  of  fever ;  only,  their  fever  has  passed 
from  the  brutal  actions  of  1815  and  1816  into  the  ideas 
and  wordy  struggles  of  the  Chambers  and  the  license 
of  the  press." 

"My  friends,"  said  Lucien,  "I  am  not  the  feather- 
weight, the  poet  you  take  me  for.  Whatever  happens 
politically,  I  shall  have  won  an  advantage  which  no 
triumph  of  the  liberal  party  could  ever  give  me.  By 
the  time  that  triumph  is  yours,"  he  added  to  Michel 
Chrestien,  "my  future  will  be  secure." 

"We  shall  cut  off  — your  hair,"  said  Chrestien, 
laughing. 

"I  shall  have  children  by  that  time,"  said  Lucien; 
"and  if  you  cut  off  my  head,  theirs  will  be  on  their 
shoulders." 


368     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

The  three  friends  did  not  take  his  meaning ;  they 
had  no  means  of  knowing  that  his  intercourse  with  the 
great  world  had  developed  to  the  highest  degree  his 
pride  of  birth  and  all  the  aristocratic  vanities.  The 
poet  saw,  not  without  some  reason,  a  great  fortune  in 
his  beaut}'  and  his  talents  when  supported  b}-  the  name 
and  title  of  Comte  de  Rubempre.  Madame  d'Espard, 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  and  Madame  de  Montcornet 
held  him  b}'  that  thread  as  a  child  holds  a  cockchafer. 
Lucien  was  fl3ing  in  a  given  circle.  The  words,  "  He 
is  one  of  us  ;  he  thinks  rightly,"  said  three  days  earlier 
in  the  salon  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  and  followed 
b}"  the  congratulations  on  his  conversion  of  the  Dues 
de  Lenoncourt,  de  Navarreins,  and  de  Grandlieu,  of 
Rastignac,  Blondet,  the  beautiful  Duchesse  de  Mau- 
frigneuse,  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon,  all  persons  of  the 
highest  influence  in  the  ro3'alist  party,  had  completely 
turned  his  head. 

"  Then  there  's  no  more  to  be  said,"  replied  D'Arthez, 
sadl3\  "  You  will  find  it  harder  than  most  men  to  keep 
yourself  pure  and  retain  3'our  self-respect.  I  know  3'ou, 
Lucien ;  you  will  suffer  deepl3'  when  you  see  3'ourself 
despised  b3'  the  very  persons  to  whom  you  are  sacri- 
ficing yourself" 

The  three  friends  bade  him  good-by,  but  the3'  did  not 
ofl"er  him  their  hands.  Lucien  sat  silent  and  thoughtful 
for  some  minutes  after  their  departure. 

"Come,  don't  think  of  those  ninnies  any  more," 
said  Coralie,  springing  on  his  knee,  and  throwing  her 
beautiful  3'oung  arms  about  his  neck.  "  The3^  take  life 
seriousl3%  and  life  is  fun.  Besides,  3'ou'll  soon  be 
Comte  Lucien  de  Rubempre.     I'll  go  and  bewitch  the 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       369 

chancellor  if  you  like.  I  know  how  to  catch  that  liber- 
tine of  a  des  Lupeaulx  and  make  him  get  your  ordi- 
nance signed.  Did  n't  I  tell  you  that  if  you  ever  wanted 
a  stepping-stone  to  reach  3'our  ends  you  should  have 
my  dead  bod}'?  " 

The  next  day  Lucien's  name  appeared  as  one  of  the 
contributors  to  the  "  Reveil."  The  name  was  announced 
in  the  prospectus  as  a  conquest,  and  scattered  broad- 
cast in  a  hundred  thousand  copies.  Lucien  went  to  the 
great  inaugural  banquet,  which  lasted  nine  hours,  at 
Roberts's,  next  door  to  Frascati's.  The  entire  chorus  of 
the  royalist  press  were  present,  —  Martainville,  Auger, 
Destains,  and  a  crowd  of  authors  still  living  who  in 
those  da3's  did  (in  the  consecrated  phrase)  "religion 
and  monarchy." 

"  We  are  going  to  give  it  to  them,  those  liberals !  " 
said  Hector  Merlin. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Nathan,  who  had  enrolled  him- 
self under  the  new  banner,  thinking  that  he  had  better 
have  the  authorities  for  than  asainst  him  in  a  theatrical 
enterprise  he  was  then  contemplating,  "  if  we  do  make 
w^ar  upon  them,  let  us  make  it  seriously' ;  don't  fire 
powder  only  !  Attack  all  the  classic  and  liberal  writers 
without  distinction  of  age  or  sex ;  make  them  all  run 
the  gauntlet  of  our  satire,  —  and  no  quarter  !  " 

"But  let  us  be  honorable,  and  turn  our  backs  on 
presents,  tickets,  bribes  from  publishers.  Let  us  make 
a  Restoration  in  journalism." 

''Pooh!"  said  Martainville;  '•' Justem  et  tenacetn 
^yropositi  virum  I  Let  us  be  implacable  and  withering  ! 
I  '11  take  Lafayette  and  show  him  for  what  he  is,  — 
Harlequin  the  First !  " 

24 


370       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"And  I,"  said  Lucien,  "will  take  the  heroes  of  the 
'  Constitutionnel/  Sergent  Mercier,  the  complete  works 
of  Monsieur  de  Jouy,  and  the  illustrious  orators  of  the 
Left." 

War  to  the  death  was  resolved,  and  unanimously 
voted  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  by  editors  and 
staff,  whose  ideas  and  divergences  were  b\'  that  time 
drowned  in  a  bowl  of  flaming  punch. 

"Well,  we've  had  a  famous  religious  and  monar- 
chical debauch  !  "  said  one  of  the  noted  writers  among 
the  romanticists  as  the  party  separated. 

This  now  historic  saying,  repeated  by  a  publisher 
who  was  present  at  the  dinner,  appeared  the  next  da3' 
in  the  "  Miroir/'  where  the  revelation  was  attributed  to 
Lucien. 

This  defection  was  the  signal  for  a  terrible  uproar  in 
the  liberal  newspapers.  Lucien  became  their  bete-noire, 
and  he  was  inveighed  against  in  the  crudest  manner. 
The  misfortunes  of  his  sonnets  were  brought  up,  and 
the  public  were  informed  that  Dauriat  preferred  to 
lose  the  monej-  he  had  paid  for  them  rather  than  risk 
their  publication.  Lucien  was  called  "  the  poet  sans 
poems." 

One  morning,  in  the  ver}'  journal  in  which  he  had 
made  his  brilliant  first  appearance,  the  hapless  great 
man  read  the  following  lines,  written  exclusively  for 
him,  for  the  public,  of  course,  could  not  understand 
their  meaning :  — 

"  If  the  publisher  Dauriat  persists  in  not  publishing  the 
sonnets  of  our  French  Petrarch,  we  shall  act  as  generous 
enemies  and  open  our  columns  to  these  poems,  which  must 
be  piquant,  judging  by  the  one  we  here  present." 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    371 

This  was  a  parody  on  one  of  bis  sonnets,  maliciousl}'' 
entitled  "The  Thistle  "  (Chardon),  and  ending  with  the 
line  :  — 

"  And  asses  only  come  to  share  the  feast !  " 

As  he  read  this  terrible  attack,  the  poet  wept  hot 
tears . 

Vernon,  in  his  paper,  talked  of  Lucien's  passion  for 
play,  and  mentioned  "The  Archer  of  Charles  IX."  as 
an  anti-national  work  in  which  the  author  took  the  side 
of  the  Catholic  throat-cutters  against  the  Calvinist  vic- 
tims. In  the  shoit  course  of  one  week  the  attack 
became  bitter.  Lucien  relied  on  his  friend  Lousteau, 
to  whom  he  had  lent  a  thousand  francs,  and  with  whom 
he  had  certain  secret  agreements.  But  Lousteau  was 
now  Lucien's  sworn  enemy ;  we  must  here  relate  wh}'. 

For  the  last  three  months  Nathan  had  been  in  love 
with  Florine  ;  but  he  did  not  know  how  to  get  her  away 
from  Lousteau,  who  was  wholl}'  dependent  on  her.  In 
the  distress  and  despair  to  which  the  actress  was  re- 
duced by  the  failure  of  the  Panorama  and  the  loss  of 
her  engagement,  together  with  the  loss  of  Matifat, 
Nathan  went  to  see  Coralie,  and  asked  her  to  get 
Florine  a  part  in  a  pla}'  of  his  that  was  soon  to  be 
brought  out  at  the  Gvmnase.  Then  he  curried  favor 
with  Florine  on  the  strength  of  obtaining  for  her  this 
engagement.  Florine,  led  b}-  ambition,  yielded.  She 
had  had  sufficient  time  to  fathom  Lousteau.  Nathan 
was  an  ambitious  man  both  in  literature  and  politics,  — 
a  man  whose  energ}^  was  equal  to  his  desires  ;  whereas 
Lousteau's  vices  had  now  destroyed  his  w-ill.  The 
actress,  determined  to  recover  her  dashing  appearance, 


372     Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

gave  Nathan  Matifat's  letters,  which  the  druggist  was 
made  to  buy  for  that  sixth  of  the  paper  which  Finot 
had  been  so  anxious  to  obtain.  Florine  then  moved 
into  a  fine  apartment  in  the  rue  Hauteville,  and  took 
Nathan  openly  in  face  of  the  whole  journalistic  and 
theatrical  world  as  her  protector.  Lousteau  was  so 
terribl}'  overcome  by  this  event  that  he  wept  at  the 
close  of  a  dinner  which  his  friends  had  given  to  console 
him.  They  all  agreed  that  Nathan  had  pla^'ed  his  own 
game.  Some  of  them,  like  Finot  and  Vernou,  had  long 
known  the  dramatist's  passion  for  Florine  ;  but  every 
one  declared  that  Lucien  had  jockeyed  the  affair  at  the 
G^'mnase,  and  in  so  doing  had  betrayed  Lousteau's 
confidence  and  the  sacred  laws  of  friendship.  The 
spirit  of  party,  the}'  said,  and  the  desire  to  serve  his 
new  royalist  friends,  was  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

"Nathan  was  carried  away  by  the  logic  of  passion; 
but  that  '  great  man  of  the  provinces,'  as  Blondet  calls 
him,  onlj^  thinks  of  selfish  gain,"  cried  Bixiou. 

Thus  the  destruction  of  Lucien  —  that  intruder,  that 
little  scamp  who  expected  to  outdo  every  one  —  was 
unanimously  resolved  upon  and  carefully  planned. 
Vernou,  who  hated  Lucien,  agreed  not  to  let  him  up. 
Finot  accused  Lucien  of  preventing  him  from  making 
fifty  thousand  francs  by  betra3'ing  the  secret  of  Matifat's 
letters  to  Nathan.  Florine,  in  order  to  propitiate  Finot, 
made  Nathan  sell  him  the  sixth  of  the  paper  for  fifteen 
thousand  francs  ;  but  Lousteau,  of  course,  lost  his  three 
thousand,  and  he  never  forgave  Lucien  that  blow  to 
his  pocket.  The  wounds  of  self-love  become  incurable 
when  the  oxide  of  silver  gets  into  them. 

No  words  can  describe,  no  representations  picture, 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    373 

the  rage  of  writers  when  their  self-love  is  wounded,  nor 
the  energy  which  takes  possession  of  them  when  the 
poisoned  arrows  of  sarcasm  pierce  their  own  skins. 
Those  whose  spirit  of  resistance  is  roused  by  the  attack 
succumb  quickl}'.  Calm  men,  able  to  bear  in  mind  that 
the  injurious  article  is  certain  to  drop  into  the  gulf  of 
oblivion,  are  those  who  display  trjae  literary  courage. 
So  at  first  sight  the  weak  will  seem  strong,  but  their 
strength  is  of  short  duration.  During  the  first  fort- 
night Lucien  rained  a  storm  of  articles  in  the  rovalist 
papers,  where  he  shared  the  work  of  criticism  with 
Hector  Merlin.  Every  day  he  fired  his  wit  from  the 
ramparts  of  the  "  Reveil,"  aided  therein  by  Martainville, 
the  only  one  of  his  new  friends  who  served  him  without 
some  hidden  purpose  of  his  own,  and  who  was  not  in  the 
secret  of  agreements  between  the  journalists  of  both 
sides,  either  at  Dauriat's  in  the  Galeries  de  Bois,  or 
behind  the  scenes  of  a  theatre,  after  drinking  at  some 
revel. 

When  Lucien  went  to  the  foj^er  of  the  Vaudeville  he 
was  no  longer  treated  as  a  friend  ;  none  but  the  men  of 
his  new  party  shook  hands  with  him,  though  Nathan, 
Hector  Merlin,  and  Theodore  Gaillard,  fraternized  openly 
with  Finot,  Vernou,  Lou'steau,  and  others  of  their  set 
who  went  b}'  the  name  of  ''  good  fellows."  At  the  time 
of  which  we  write,  the  fover  of  the  Vaudeville  was  the 
headquarters  of  literar}'  scandal,  —  a  sort  of  boudoir 
frequented  bj'  the  men  of  all  parties,  political  magnates, 
and  magistrates.  On  one  occasion  the  judge  of  a  court, 
wlio  had  reprimanded  a  colleague  for  sweeping  the 
green-room  with  his  robe,  was  seen  robe  to  robe  with 
the  rebuked  lawyer  in  the  foyer  of  the  Vaudeville.    Finot 


374     Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

was  there  eveiy  evening.  Lousteau  had  ended  by 
shaking  hands  with  Nathan.  When  Lucien  had  the 
time  and  the  calmness,  he  studied  the  behavior  of  his 
enemies,  and  recognized  —  unhappy  lad! — their  im- 
placable coldness  to  him. 

In  those  days  party  spirit  engendered  hatreds  that 
were  far  more  bitter,  than  they  are  to- da}'.  To-day  the 
springs  of  everything  are  less  taut ;  criticism,  after 
slashing  a  man's  book,  shakes  hands  with  him  ;  the 
victim  is  forced  to  embrace  his  scarifier  under  fear 
of  the  rod  of  ridicule.  If  he  refuses,  a  writer  is  held  to 
be  poor  company-,  —  ungracious,  eaten  up  with  vanit}', 
unapproachable,  ill-natured,  rancorous.  To-da}-,  when 
an  author  gets  a  stab  in  the  back,  when  he  just  escapes 
a  trap  laid  for  him  b}'  a  devilish  hypocris}',  or  becomes 
the  victim  of  some  treachery,  he  hears  his  enemies 
wishing  him  "good-evening,"  and  claiming  his  respect, 
possibly  his  friendship.  All  is  excusable  and  justifiable 
now  that  virtue  has  been  transformed  into  vice,  and 
certain  vices  set  up  as  virtues.  The  leaders  of  opposite 
opinions  speak  to  each  other  in  dulcet  tones  and  cour- 
teous phrases.  But  in  these  other  times  of  which  we 
speak  it  required  some  courage  for  certain  ro3'alist 
writers  and  some  liberal  writers  to  meet  in  the  same 
theatre.  Hateful  provocations  were  given.  Glances 
were  loaded  like  pistols ;  a  single  spark  was  often 
enough  to  produce  a  quarrel.  Imprecations  could  be 
heard  on  the  entrance  of  men  who  were  particular)}' 
obnoxious  to  either  side  ;  for  there  were  then  but  two 
parties,  —  royalists  and  liberals  (romanticists  and  clas- 
sicists), —  one  hatred  in  two  forms  ;  a  hatred  which  fully 
explained  the  scaffolds  of  the  Convention. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       375 

Lucien,  now  transformed  into  a  royalist  and  a  furious 
romanticist,  from  the  liberal  and  violent  Voltairean  un- 
der which  guise  he  had  made  his  first  appearance,  found 
himself  beneath  the  weight  of  all  the  enmities  which 
hung  above  the  head  of  the  man  most  abhorred  b}'  the 
liberals  of  the  da}',  namel}',  Martainville,  the  founder 
of  "  Le  Drapeau  Blanc,"  and  the  only  man  who  really 
stood  by  him  and  liked  him.  This  support  was  an 
injury  to  Lucien.  Parties  are  ungrateful  to  their  scouts ; 
the}'  willingly  abandon  their  forlorn  hopes.  In  politics 
above  all  it  is  necessary  to  keep  with  the  rank  and  file 
of  the  army.  One  of  the  chief  injuries  the  little  jour- 
nals did  to  Lucien  was  the  malicious  coupling  of  his 
name  with  that  of  Martainville.  It  was  this  that  really 
threw  them  into  each  other's  arms. 

Their  friendship,  real  or  artificial,  earned  them  two 
spiteful  articles  written  by  Felicien  Vernou,  who  was 
bitterly  jealous  of  Lucien's  success  in  the  great  world, 
having  heard  some  rumor  of  his  approaching  rise  in 
rank,  —  a  rumor  which  soon  spread  among  his  former 
comrades.  The  poet's  treachery  was  then  still  more  bit- 
terly denounced,  and  embellished  with  aggravating  cir- 
cumstances. Lucien  was  called  the  Little  Judas,  and 
Martainville  the  Great  Judas  ;  for,  as  will  be  remem- 
bered, he  was  accused,  rightly  or  wrongly,  of  having 
betrayed  the  Pont  du  Pecq  to  the  allied  armies.  Lucien 
remarked  with  a  laugh  to  des  Lupeaulx  that  as  for  him 
he  had  often  betrayed  the  2^01^s  asinorum.  Lucien's 
luxury,  hollow  as  it  was  and  resting  on  expectations, 
was  another  oflTence  ;  his  enemies  could  not  forgive  him 
his  carriage  (for  to  their  minds  he  still  rolled  in  it),  nor 
his  splendors  of  the  rue  de  Vendome.      They  all  felt 


376     Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

instinctivelj"  that  a  man  so  3'oung,  handsome,  brilliant, 
and  corrupted  bj'them,  must  succeed  in  his  new  career, 
and  the}'  used  all  means  to  overthrow  him. 

Some  days  before  Coralie  was  to  make  her  first 
appearance  at  the  Gj'mnase,  Lucien  went  arm  in  arm 
with  Hector  Merlin  to  the  fo3'er  of  the  Vaudeville. 
Merlin  scolded  his  friend  for  having  helped  Nathan  in 
the  Florine  affair. 

"You  have  made  mortal  enemies  of  Lousteau  and 
Nathan  both,"  he  said.  "  I  gave  you  sound  advice 
and  you  would  not  profit  b}'  it.  You  have  given  away 
praises  and  done  a  benefit,  and  you  will  be  cruell}' 
punished  for  a  kind  action.  Florine  and  Coralie  can 
never  continue  on  good  terms  together  after  they  come 
on  the  same  stage ;  one  will  alwa3's  be  wanting  to  get 
the  better  of  the  other.  Y^ou  have  onl}-  our  journals  to 
protect  Coralie.  Nathan,  besides  his  advantage  as  the 
writer  of  plan's,  can  control  the  liberal  papers  in  theatri- 
cal matters  ;  he  has  been  much  longer  in  journalism 
than  3'ou  have." 

This  speech  was  an  echo  of  certain  secret  fears  which 
had  found  their  wa}'  into  Lucien's  mind.  He  did  not 
find  either  in  Nathan  or  in  Theodore  Gaillard  the  frank- 
ness and  confidence  to  which  he  thought  he  had  a  rioht. 
But  how  could  he  complain,  being  so  recentl3'  con- 
verted? Gaillard  alarmed  him  b3'  hinting  that  new- 
comers must  give  proofs  of  sincerity  for  a  long  time 
before  the  part3'  could  trust  them.  The  poet  became 
aware  of  a  jealous3^  within  the  lines  of  the  ministerial 
and  ro3'alist  journals  which  he  had  never  once  thought 
of,  —  the  jealous3'  of  men  when  a  new-comer  appears  to 
share  the  cake  before  them  ;  giving  them  a  likeness  to 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  m  Paris.    377 

dogs  over  a  bone  :  the  same  growls,  the  same  attitudes, 
the  same  nature.  These  writers  were  all  pulling  secret 
wires  to  injure  each  other's  standing  with  the  authori- 
ties. Lukewarmness  was  a  common  accusation  ;  to  get 
rid  of  a  competitor  there  was  no  perfidy  they  would  not 
commit.  The  liberals  had  not  this  special  cause  of 
intestine  struggle,  because  they  were  far  removed  from 
power  and  public  patronage.  The  more  he  saw  of  this 
inextricable  network  of  ambitions,  the  less  courage 
Lucien  had  to  draw  his  sword  and  cut  the  meshes, 
although  he  knew  very  well  he  had  not  the  patience 
to  disentangle  them.  He  could  never  have  been  the 
Aretino,  the  Beaumarchais,  the  Freron  of  his  day  ;  he 
simply  clung  to  his  one  desire,  —  to  obtain  his  letters- 
patent,  —  feeling  well  assured  that  such  a  restoration 
of  name  and  title  would  bring  him  a  good  marriage. 
His  future  would  then  depend  onl}'  on  some  fortunate 
chance  which  his  personal  gifts  would  further. 

But,  unluckily  for  him,  Lousteau  knew  his  secret  and 
how  to  wound  him  mortall}' ;  and  it  happened  that  on 
this  evening  when  Merlin  and  Lucien  had  come  toofether 
to  the  Vaudeville,  Etienne  had  prepared  for  the  latter  a 
fatal  trap  in  which  the  lad  was  fated  to  be  caught. 

"Here's  our  handsome  Lucien,"  said  Finot,  drag- 
ging des  Lupeaulx,  with  whom  he  was  talking,  up  to 
Lucien,  whose  hand  he  took  with  a  specious  show  of 
friendship.  "  I  don't  know  an  instance  of  such  success 
as  his.  In  Paris  fortune  is  of  two  kinds :  material 
fortune, — money,  which  all  the  world  can  pick  up; 
and  moral  fortune,  —  connections,  position,  access  to 
a  society  inapproachable  b}'  some,  no  matter  what  their 
material  fortune  may  be.     Now,  mj-  friend  — " 


378     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  Our  friend  !  "  said  des  Lnpeaulx,  with  a  flattering 
look  at  Lucien. 

"  Our  friend, '^  resumed  Finot,  patting  Lucien's  hand, 
"  has  made  a  brilhant  record  in  this  last  respect.  Lu- 
cien has  greater  means,  more  talent,  more  wit,  than  all 
his  detractors  put  together,  —  and  beaut}-  to  boot.  His 
old  friends  can't  forgive  him  his  successes  ;  the}-  ascribe 
them  to  luck." 

"Such  luck,"  said  des  Lnpeaulx,  "  does  n't  come  to 
fools  or  weaklings.  Can  Bonaparte's  career  be  called 
luck  ?  There  were  twenty  generals  above  him  wanting 
to  command  the  arm}-  of  Italy,  just  as  there  are  a  hun- 
dred young  men  at  this  moment  who  long  to  visit 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  whom  I  hear,  my  dear  fel- 
low," —  he  added,  tapping  Lucien  on  the  shoulder,  — 
"  the  world  gives  you  for  a  wife.  Ah  !  you  are  in  high 
favor!  Madame  d'Espard,  Madame  de  Bargeton,  and 
Madame  de  Montcornet  are  distracted  about  you.  You 
are  going  to-night  to  Madame  Firmiani's  soiree,  are 
you  not?  and  to-morrow  to  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu's 
rout?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Allow  me  to  present  to  you  a  young  banker.  Mon- 
sieur du  Tillet,  a  man  like  yourself,  who  has  made  a 
fine  fortune  in  a  short  time." 

Lucien  and  du  Tillet  bowed  and  entered  into  conver- 
sation ;  the  banker  asked  Lucien  to  dinner.  Finot  and 
des  Lnpeaulx,  two  men  of  equal  calibre,  and  who  knew 
each  other  sufficiently  well  to  always  remain  friends, 
walked  away,  leaving  Lucien,  Merlin,  du  Tillet,  and 
Nathan  conversing,  and  seated  themselves  on  one  of 
the  sofas  of  the  foyer. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      379 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Finot  to  des  Lnpeanlx,  "  tell 
me  the  truth.  Is  Liicien  reall}^  and  truly  protected  by 
great  influeiK3e?  He  has  become  the  hete-noire  of  m}' 
staff  of  writers  ;  and  before  I  give  in  to  their  conspira- 
cies I  want  to  know  from  you  wiietlier  I  had  better 
stand  b}^  him  and  serve  him,  or  let  him  go." 

Here  des  Lupeaulx  and  Finot  looked  at  each  other 
during  a  momentar}'  pause  with  significant  attention. 

"  You  don't  suppose,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  "  that  the 
Marquise  d'Espard,  du  Chatelet,  and  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton  have  forgiven  Lucien's  attacks  ?  No ;  the}'  have 
drawn  him  into  the  royalist  party  merely  to  silence  him. 
They  are  all  trying  to  find  some  pretext  for  getting  out 
of  the  promises  with  which  they  have  lured  him.  If 
3'ou  can  find  a  way  you  would  do  them  the  greatest 
service,  which  would  not  be  forgotten.  Lucien  might 
have  made  terms  with  his  worst  eneni}',  Madame  de 
Bargeton,  in  the  beginning,  by  stopping  those  attacks 
on  conditions  all  women  like  to  be  forced  into.  He  is 
young  and  handsome,  and  he  had  it  in  his  power  to 
make  her  present  hatred  love.  He  would  then  have 
been  Comte  de  Rubempre  ;  the  '  Cuttle-fish'  would  have 
got  him  an  appointment  in  the  Household,  or  a  sinecure 
of  some  kind.  Lucien  would  have  made  a  charming 
reader  to  Louis  XVIII. .  or  librarian  somewhere,  or 
Master  of  petitions.  But  the  little  fool  missed  his 
chance.  Perhaps  that  is  really  the  thing  she  won't 
now  forgive.  Instead  of  imposing  conditions  as  he 
might  have  done,  he  has  now  to  submit  to  them.  Cora- 
lie  has  ruined  him.  If  she  were  not  his  mistress,  he 
would  have  wanted  Madame  de  Bargeton  again,  and  he 
would  have  had  her." 


380     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

"So  we  ma}'  as  well  knock  him  over?"  said  Fiiiot. 

"  How  will  3'ou  do  it?"  asked  des  Lupeaulx,  indif- 
ferenth",  determined  to  get  some  credit  for  this  service 
from  the  Marquise  d'Espard. 

"There's  a  signed  agreement  which  obliges  Lucien 
to  write  a  certain  number  of  articles  for  my  paper. 
He  '11  do  them  all  the  more  readily  because  he  has  n't  a 
penn}'.  If  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  were  stung  b}'  some 
sharp  article,  and  made  to  think  that  Lucien  wrote  it, 
he  would  declare  him  unworth}-  of  the  king's  kindness. 
There  is  some  such  scheme  on  hand  ;  and  in  order  to 
make  this  great  man  of  the  provinces  lose  his  head 
entirelv,  Coralie  is  to  be  attacked.  He  will  see  his 
mistress  hissed  and  left  without  a  part.  If  the  letters- 
patent  are  not  granted,  we  can  make  the  most  of  that, 
and  talk  of  his  aristocratic  pretensions  and  his  father 
the  apothecary.  Lucien's  courage  is  only  skin-deep ; 
he'll  give  in,  and  go  back  whence  he  came.  Nathan 
has  made  Florine  sell  me  that  sixth  of  mj'  journal  which 
Matifat  owned.  I  have  bought  out  the  paper-maker,  so 
that  Dauriat  and  I  are  now  the  sole  proprietors.  We 
can  manage,  you  and  I,  to  turn  the  paper  into  the  ser- 
vice of  the  court.  I  protected  Nathan  and  Florine  in 
order  to  get  my  sixth  ;  the^^  have  let  me  have  it,  and  I 
must  make  them  some  return.  But  before  deciding  on 
any  course,  I  wanted  to  know  from  you  exactly  what 
Lucien's  chances  are." 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  des  Lupeaulx,  "I  like  men  of 
vour  sort !  " 

"  Well,  can  you  get  Florine  a  permanent  situation?" 
said  Finot  to  the  Master  of  petitions. 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  must  rid  us  of  Lucien.     De  Marsay 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    381 

and  Rastignac  both  declare  they  cannot  stand  him  any 
longer." 

"Sleep  in  peace,"  said  Finot ;  "Lucien  won't  be 
able  to  get  an  article  into  any  of  the  papers  in  defence 
of  himself  and  Coralie  except  Martainville's.  One 
paper  against  all  is  helpless." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  raw  spot  in  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seals  ;  but  be  sure  you  let  me  see  the  article  before  you 
publish  it." 

So  saying,  des  Lupeaulx  left  the  theatre.  Finot  went 
over  to  Lucien  ;  and  in  the  good-natured,  kindly  tone 
by  which  so  man}'  persons  were  taken  in,  he  declared 
that  in  spite  of  Lucien's  change  of  opinion  he  could  not 
give  up  the  articles  that  were  due  to  him  ;  for  his  part, 
he  liked  a  man  who  was  bold  enough  to  make  such  a 
change.  Lucien  and  he  would  continue  to  meet  in  the 
world,  and  there  were  alwa3's  a  thousand  little  services 
they  could  do  each  other.  Lucien  needed  a  trusty  man 
in  the  liberal  party  to  attack  the  ministerialists  or  the 
royalists  who  gave  him  trouble. 

''If  they  play  you  false,  what  will  3'ou  do?"  said 
Finot,  ending  his  discourse.  "  If  some  minister,  think- 
ing he  has  you  by  the  halter  of  apostacy,  no  longer  fears 
you,  and  sends  you  to  the  right-about,  you'll  want  a 
few  dogs  to  bite  his  calves.  Well,  it  is  war  to  the  knife 
between  you  and  Lousteau,  who  demands  your  head ; 
and  you  and  Vernou  don't  speak.  I  am  the  only  real 
friend  left  to  you.  It  is  a  rule  with  me  to  live  on  good 
terms  with  men  who  are  really  strong-minded.  You 
will  be  able  to  do  for  me  in  the  world  you  are  now 
entering  the  equivalent  of  the  services  I  shall  do  for 
you  in  the  press.    Meantime,  business  before  all !    Send 


382     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

me  the  articles  agreed  upon ;  make  them  purely  lite- 
rary", and  then  the}"  won't  compromise  you  with  3"0ur 
new  friends." 

Lucien  saw  nothing  but  friendship  mingled  with 
shrewd  calculations  of  self-interest  in  these  proposals 
of  Finot,  whose  flatter^',  together  with  that  of  des 
Lupeaulx,  had  put  him  in  high  good-humor.  He 
thanked  Finot ! 


Gfreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    388 


XXIII. 

THE    FATAL    WEEK. 

In  the  lives  of  ambitious  men  and  all  those  who  can 
only  succeed  by  the  help  of  men  and  things,  and  by  a 
line  of  conduct  carefully  planned,  followed,  and  con- 
sistentl}^  maintained,  there  comes  a  cruel  moment  when 
some  strange  power,  I  know  not  what,  subjects  them 
to  harsh  trials.  All  things  fail  them  at  once ;  on  all 
sides  the  threads  of  life  are  broken  or  suddenly  en- 
tangled ;  misfortunes  appear  at  every  point.  When  a 
man  loses  his  head  in  the  midst  of  this  moral  confusion 
he  is  lost.  Those  who  are  able  to  resist  the  first  revolt 
of  circumstances,  who  stiffen  themselves  to  let  the 
whirlwind  pass,  who  by  some  mighty  effort  can  escape 
into  the  safety  of  a  higher  sphere,  are  the  really  strong- 
minded  of  the  earth.  Every  man,  unless  he  is  born 
rich,  has  what  we  must  call  his  fatal  week.  For  Na- 
poleon that  week  was  the  retreat  from  Moscow. 

This  cruel  moment  now  came  to  Lucien.  He  had 
been  too  luck}^ ;  everything  had  succeeded  for  him  so 
far,  in  the  world  and  in  literature.  Yes,  he  had  been 
too  lucky ;  he  was  now  to  see  men  and  things  turning 
against  him. 

The  first  blow  was  the  sharpest  and  cruellest  of  all ; 
it  struck  him  where  he  thought  he  was  invulnerable,  — 
in  his  heart  and  in  his  love.      Coralie  might  not  be 


384     Gi'eat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

intelligent ;  but  she  was  gifted  with  a  noble  soul  and 
the  faculty  of  bringing  it  into  view  b}-  those  inspira- 
tional movements  which  are  the  sign  of  a  great  actress. 
This  strange  phenomenon,  unless  it  becomes  habitual 
by  long  practice,  is  subject  to  the  caprices  of  tempera- 
ment, and  often  to  an  innate  modestv  which  controls 
young  actresses.  Inwardly  ingenuous  and  timid,  out- 
wardly bold  and  free  as  a  comedian  must  be,  Coralie, 
full  of  her  love,  experienced  a  reaction  of  her  woman's 
heart  under  the  mask  of  her  profession.  The  art  of 
representing  feelings  —  that  splendid  falsity  !  — had  not 
yet  triumphed  over  the  nature  within  her.  She  felt 
ashamed  of  giving  to  the  public  that  which  belonged 
onl}'  to  her  love.  Besides,  she  had  the  weakness  of  all 
true  women ;  though  she  felt  she  had  the  power  of 
commanding  the  stage,  she  wanted  the  evidence  of  suc- 
cess. Afraid  of  facing  an  audience  which  might  not  sym- 
pathize with  her,  she  trembled  every  time  she  went  upon 
the  stage,  and  the  coldness  of  the  public  would  have 
paralj'zed  her.  This  terrible  emotion  made  every  new 
part  as  alarming  to  her  as  a  first  appearance.  Applause 
gave  her  a  sort  of  intoxication,  useless  to  her  self  love, 
but  absolutel}'  indispensable  for  her  courage.  A  mur- 
mur of  disapprobation,  or  even  the  silence  of  an  inat- 
tentive audience,  lessened  her  faculties.  A  full  and 
interested  house,  kindly  and  admiring  glances,  electri- 
fied them.  She  then  put  herself  into  communication 
with  the  best  qualities  of  the  souls  before  her,  and  felt 
the  power  of  moving  and  exciting  them.  This  twofold 
condition  is  indicative  of  the  nervous  temperament  and 
constitution  of  genius,  and  it  also  plainly  shows  the 
delicac}'  of  nature  and  the  tenderness  of  this  poor  child. 


Great  Man  of  the  Proviyices  in  Paris.    385 

Lucien  bad  ended  by  comprehending  and  appreciating 
the  treasures  of  that  heart ;  he  saw  how  triilj"  his  mis- 
tress was  still  a  3'oung  girl. 

Unfitted  for  the  wiliness  of  an  actress,  Coralie  was 
incapable  of  defending  herself  against  the  rivahy  and 
green-room  manoeuvres  of  Florine, — a  woman  as  dan- 
gerous and  depraved  as  her  friend  was  simple  and 
generous.  Parts  had  to  seek  Coralie ;  she  was  too 
proud  to  court  authors  and  submit  to  their  dishonor- 
able conditions,  or  yield  to  the  first  journalist  who 
threatened  her  with  his  pen  and  his  love.  Talent, 
already  so  rare  in  the  amazing  art  of  the  comedian,  is 
onl}'  one  condition  of  success.  Talent  is  even  injurious 
for  a  long  time  unless  accompanied  by  a  certain  genius 
for  intrigue  which  was  wholly  lacking  to  Coralie.  Fore- 
seeing the  sufferings  his  friend  must  endure  on  her  first 
appearance  at  the  Gymnase,  Lucien  desired  at  any  cost 
to  secure  her  triumph.  The  money  which  remained 
from  the  sale  of  their  furniture,  that  which  he  had 
earned  by  his  articles,  all  went  in  the  cost  of  costumes, 
the  arrangement  of  her  dressing-room,  and  the  many 
expenses  of  a  first  appearance. 

A  few  days  before  the  crucial  night,  Lucien  took  a 
humiliating  step,  to  wliich  his  love  induced  him.  He 
took  the  notes  of  Fendant  and  Cavalier  and  went  to  the 
Cocon-d'Or,  in  the  rue  des  Bourbonnais,  to  ask  Camusot 
to  cash  them.  The  poet  was  not  yet  so  corrupted  that 
he  could  calmly  make  this  appeal.  Many  an  anguish 
he  left  upon  the  wa}-,  paving  it  with  dreadful  thoughts 
as  he  said  to  himself  alternately :  ''I  will ! "  "I  will 
not ! " 

Nevertheless,  he  did  enter  the  little  cold,  dark  oflEice, 

25 


386      Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

lighted  only  from  an  inner  court,  where  sat,  not  the 
lover  of  Coralie,  the  jovial,  idle  libertine,  the  easily 
fooled  Camusot  whom  he  knew,  but  the  grave  father 
of  a  familj^,  the  wily  merchant,  powdered  with  virtue, 
and  masked  b}'  the  judicial  prudery  of  a  magistrate  in 
the  commercial  courts  ;  protected,  too,  by  his  dignity  as 
master  of  the  establishment,  and  surrounded  b}-  clerks, 
cashiers,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  a  great  trade. 
Lucien  trembled  from  head  to  foot  as  he  approached 
him  ;  for  the  worth}'  merchant  gave  him  the  insolently 
indifferent  look  he  had  already  seen  in  the  eyes  of  the 
mone3'-changers. 

"  Here  are  some  notes;  and  I  should  be  under  the 
greatest  obligations  if  3'ou  would  take  them  from  me, 
monsieur,"  he  said,  standing  before  the  merchant,  who 
remained  seated. 

"You  have  taken  something  from  me,  monsieur," 
said  Camusot ;  "  I  do  not  forget  it." 

Lucien  explained  Coralie's  position  in  a  low  voice, 
stooping  close  to  the  merchant,  who  could  hear  the 
palpitating  heart  of  the  humbled  poet.  It  was  not 
Camusot's  intention  or  desire  that  Coralie  should  fail. 
While  listening  he  examined  the  signatures  to  the 
notes  and  smiled ;  he  was  a  judge  in  the  commercial 
court,  and  he  knew  the  standing  of  those  publishers. 
Nevertheless,  he  gave  Lucien  the  four  thousand  five 
hundred  francs,  on  condition  that  he  signed  a  receipt 
for  "  Value  received  in  silks." 

Lucien  went  at  once  to  Braulard,  and  arranged 
matters  so  carefully  with  him  that  Coralie's  success 
seemed  secure.  Braulard  promised  to  come,  and  did 
come,  to  the  last  rehearsal,  to  arrange  the  points  at 


Great  Man  of  the  Pi^ovinces  in  Paris.    387 

which  his  "Romans"  should  open  their  batteries  and 
produce  a  triumph.  Lucien  carried  the  rest  of  his 
money  to  Coralie,  conceahng  from  her  his  appeal  to 
Camusot.  This  relief  eased  the  anxieties  of  the  poor 
girl  and  Berenice,  who  b}^  this  time  had  no  means  of 
supplying  the  household. 

Martainville,  one  of  the  men  of  that  day  who  best 
understood  theatrical  matters,  had  come  to  the  house 
several  times  to  hear  Coralie  recite  her  part.  Lucien 
obtained  a  promise  of  favorable  articles  from  several  of 
the  dramatic  critics  of  the  ro3'alist  press,  and  had  no 
suspicion  of  danger.  But  the  evening  before  the  one 
on  which  Coralie  was  to  make  her  debut  at  the  Gj^m- 
nase,  an  event  happened  that  was  terrible  in  its  effect 
on  Lucien's  mind. 

D'Arthez's  book  had  appeared.  The  editor-in-chief 
of  Hector  Merlin's  paper  gave  it  to  Lucien  to  review, 
considering  him  the  man  best  fitted  for  the  purpose. 
He  owed  his  reputation  for  this  class  of  work  to  the 
articles  he  had  written  on  Nathan.  A  number  of  per- 
sons were  in  the  office  at  the  time,  nearly  all  the  edi- 
torial staff  were  present,  and  Martainville  had  come  in 
to  settle  some  point  in  the  general  warfare  declared 
b}'  the  ro3'alist  journals  against  the  liberal  journals. 
Nathan,  Merlin,  and  other  contributors  to  the  "  Reveil " 
were  talking  excitedl}^  of  the  dangerous  influence  of 
Leon  Giraud's  semi-weekh'  paper,  —  an  influence  all 
the  more  pernicious,  the}-  said,  because  its  language 
was  prudent,  judicious,  and  moderate.  The}'  talked  of 
the  brotherhood  in  the  rue  des  Quatre-Vents,  and  called 
it  a  Convention.  The  royalist  journals  had  already 
decided  on  a  systematic  war  to  the  death  against  these 


388     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

dangerous  opponents,  who  became,  in  fact,  the  promul- 
gators of  "  the  Doctrine,"  —  that  fatal  sect  which  over- 
threw the  Bourbons  after  the  da}^  when  a  contemptible 
vengeance  led  the  most  brilhant  of  the  ro3'alist  writers 
to  ally  himself  with  it.  D'Arthez,  whose  absolutist  opin- 
ions were  not  known,  was  included  in  this  anathema 
against  the  brotherhood,  and  the  publication  of  his 
book  afforded  the  opportunity-  of  making  a  first  victim. 
It  was  to  be,  as  the  classic  sa3ing  is,  "slashed  to 
bits." 

Lucien  refused  to  write  the  article.  This  refusal 
caused  a  violent  commotion  among  the  important  men 
of  the  ro3'alist  part^^  who  were  present.  The}^  declared 
plainly  that  Lucien,  as  a  new  convert,  had  no  choice ; 
if  it  did  not  suit  him  to  belong  to  the  party  of  religion 
and  monarchy,  he  could  return  to  his  former  camp. 
Merlin  and  Martainville  took  him  aside,  and  pointed 
out  that  he  would  simply  deliver  over  Coralie  to  the 
attacks  which  the  liberal  journals  were  sure  to  make 
upon  her,  without  the  powerful  defence  of  the  royaUst 
journals  to  protect  her.  As  it  was,  her  first  appearance 
at  the  Gymnase  would  certainl}'  give  rise  to  a  violent 
discussion,  which  would  give  her  the  notoriety  all  ac- 
tresses sigh  for. 

"You  don't  understand  the  matter,"  said  Martain- 
ville, "but  I  do.  She  will  play  for  the  next  three 
months  under  the  cross-fire  of  our  articles,  and  can  then 
earn  thirty  thousand  francs  in  the  provinces  during  her 
holida}'.  For  a  scruple  —  and  such  scruples  will  alwaj's 
prevent  3'ou  from  becoming  anything  in  politics  —  you 
will  destroy  Coralie  and  your  own  future,  and  throw 
awa}'  your  means  of  living." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    389 

Lucieii  saw  himself  forced  to  choose  between  Coralie 
and  d'Arthez  ;  his  mistress  was  lost  unless  he  strangled 
his  friend  in  the  columns  of  the  ro^'alist  newspapers. 

The  poor  poet  went  home  with  death  in  his  soul. 
He  sat  down  beside  the  fire  in  his  bedroom  and  read 
the  book,  one  of  the  finest  in  modern  literature.  Tear 
after  tear  fell  upon  the  pages.  He  hesitated  long  ;  but 
at  last  he  wrote  a  scoffing  article,  such  as  he  well  knew 
how  to  write,  taking  the  book  as  children  take  a  beautiful 
bird  to  pluck  and  martyrize  it.  His  terrible  witicisms 
were  of  a  nature  to  blast  the  book.  Heading  it  once 
more,  his  better  feelino-s  rose  aoain.  He  rushed  throuoli 
Paris  at  midnight  and  reached  d  'Arthez's  lodgings,  saw 
in  the  window  the  chaste  and  humble  light"  he  had  so 
often  looked  at  with  an  admiration  deserved  b}'  the  noble 
constancy  of  that  true,  great  man.  He  had  scarcely- 
strength  to  go  up  the  stairs,  and  stood  for  a  few  mo- 
ments motionless  on  the  landing.  At  last,  impelled  by 
his  guardian  angel,  he  knocked,  entered,  and  found 
d'Arthez  reading  without  a  fire. 

"  Your  book  is  sublime !  "  cried  Lucien,  with  tears  in 
his  e3'es,  "  and  I  am  ordered  to  attack  it." 

"  Poor  child,  your  bread  is  bitter,"  said  d'Arthez. 

*'  I  came  to  ask  forgiveness.  Keep  the  secret  of  this 
visit ;  let  me  go  back  to  hell  and  to  the  business  of 
devils.  Perhaps  we  can  succeed  in  nothing  until  we 
turn  our  hearts  to  stone." 

"  Alwa3's  the  same  !  "  said  d'Arthez. 

''Do  3'ou  think  me  base?  No,  d'Arthez,  I  am  only 
a  child  mad  with  love  ;  "  and  he  explained  his  position. 

"  Let  me  see  the  article,"  said  d'Arthez,  moved  by  all 
that  Lucien  told  him  of  Coralie. 


390       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Lucien  gave  liim  the  manuscript.  D'Arthez  read  it, 
and  could  not  repress  a  smile. 

""  What  a  fatal  use  of  intellect!  "  he  cried  ;  but  he 
checked  himself  on  seeing  Lucien,  lying  in  a  chair, 
overwhelmed  with  genuine 'sorrow.  "  Will  you  let  me 
correct  it?"  asked  d'Arthez.  ''I  will  return  it  to  you 
to-morrow.  Sarcasm  dishonors  a  book,  but  grave  and 
sober  criticism  is  sometimes  a  benefit.  I  will  make 
3'our  article  more  honorable  both  to  3'ou  and  to  me. 
Besides,  no  one  knows  ni}'  faults  as  well  as  I  do 
m3'self." 

"  In  a  barren,  wear}'  land  we  sometimes  find  a  fruit 
to  slake  our  thirst ;  I  have  found  one,"  said  Lucien 
weeping,  as  he  threw  himself  into  d'Arthez's  arms  and 
kissed  him.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  had  given  you  my  con- 
science and  should  get  it  back  some  day." 

"  I  consider  periodical  repentance  a  great  hj^pocris}'," 
said  d'Arthez,  solemnly;  "repentance  then  becomes  a 
premium  given  to  wrong-doing.  Repentance  is  a  virgin 
act  due  from  our  souls  to  God  ;  a  man  who  repents 
again  and  again  becomes  a  S3'cophant.  I  fear  that  3'ou 
see  onl3'  absolutions  in  3'our  repentance." 

The  words  were  like  a  thunderbolt  to  Lucien,  who 
walked  back  SI0WI3'  to  his  home. 

The  next  day  he  took  his  article  (which  d'Arthez 
had  returned  to  him  remodelled)  to  the  paper ;  but 
from  that  day  forth  he  was  overcome  by  a  melancholy 
he  could  not  alwa3's  conceal. 

When  the  evening  of  Coralie's  debut  came,  and  he 
saw  the  Gymnase  crowded,  he  went  through  all  the 
terrible  emotions  of  a  first  appearance,  aggravated  in 
his  case  by  the  anxieties  of  his  love.     All  his  vanities 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    391 

were  at  stake  ;  he  looked  at  the  faces  in  the  audience  as 
a  prisoner  examines  those  of  judge  and  jiny  ;  a  single 
murmur  made  him  shudder,  a  trifling  incident  on  the 
stage,  Coralie's  entrances  and  exits,  the  slightest  in- 
flections of  her  voice,  agitated  him  inconceivabl}'.  The 
piece  in  which  she  pla3'ed  was  one  of  those  that  fall,  and 
then  recover.  It  fell.  When  Coralie  went  on  the  stage 
she  was  not  applauded,  and  she  felt  the  coldness  of  the 
pit.  In  the  boxes  there  was  no  applause  except  that  of 
Camusot,  which  was  stopped  b}^  persons  stationed  in  the 
balcon}^  and  galleries  calling,  "Hush!  hush!"  The 
galleries  also  stopped  the  claqueurs  each  time  that  thej 
delivered  salvos,  which  were  evidentlj'  forced.  Mar- 
tainville  applauded  courageousl}^  and  the  h3'pocritical 
Florine,  Nathan,  and  Merlin  did  likewise.  But  the 
play  failed.  After  it  was  over  a  crowd  pressed  into 
Coralie's  dressing-room ;  but  the  consolations  oflfered 
onl}'  aggravated  her  distress.  She  returned  home  in 
despair  ;  more  for  Lucien  than  for  herself. 

"We  were  betrayed  by  Braulard,"  he  said. 

Coralie  was  struck  to  the  heart  and  attacked  with 
fever.  The  next  day  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  pla}' ; 
she  saw  herself  stopped  short  in  her  career.  Lucien 
hid  the  newspapers  and  went  into  the  dining-room  to 
read  them.  All  the  critics  attributed  the  failure  of  the 
piece  to  Coralie ;  she  had  presumed  too  much  upon  her 
powers ;  she  had  charmed  the  Boulevards,  it  was  true, 
but  she  was  out  of  place  at  the  G3'mnase  ;  she  had  been 
led  on  b}^  a  laudable  ambition,  no  doubt,  but  she  had  not 
rightly  estimated  her  capacit}',  and  had  moreover 
misunderstood  her  part.  The  criticisms  Lucien  now 
read  on  Coralie  were  written  with  the  same  hypocrisy 


392     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

as  his  articles  on  Nathan.  A  rage  like  that  of  Milo 
of  Cortona,  when  lie  felt  his  hands  caught  in  the  oak 
he  had  cleft  himself,  seized  upon  Lucien  ;  he  turned 
livid  ;  his  so-called  friends  gave  Coralie,  in  the  kindest 
phraseolog} ,  the  most  treacherous  advice.  They  ad- 
vised her  to  pla}-  certain  parts  which  they  knew  to  be 
unsuited  to  her  talents.  Such  were  the  articles  of  the 
roj'alist  press  inspired  by  Nathan.  As  for  the  liberal 
journals,  they  were  full  of  the  scorn  and  trenchant  criti- 
cism Lucien  himself  had  practised  in  their  columns. 

Coralie  heard  sobs,  and  springhig  from  her  bed  she 
ran  to  Lucien,  saw  the  papers,  seized  them,  and  read 
them.  After  reading  them,  she  went  back  to  her  bed 
and  was  silent. 

Florine  was  in  the  conspirac}' ;  she  foresaw  the  re- 
sult, and  had  learned  Coralie's  part,  having  Nathan 
for  a  teacher.  The  management  of  the  Gymnase  was 
desirous  of  keeping  the  play  upon  the  stage,  and  there- 
fore proposed  to  give  Florine  Coralie's  part.  The  di- 
rector came  to  see  the  poor  girl,  and  found  her  ill  and 
depressed  ;  but  when  he  told  her,  before  Lucien,  that 
Florine  knew  the  part  and  would  play  it,  for  it  was  Im- 
possible, he  said,  not  to  give  the  piece  that  evening, 
she  sprang  up  and  jumped  from  her  bed,  crying  out : 

"  I  will  play  the  part  myself!  " 

Then  she  fainted  on  the  floor.  Florine  played  the 
part  and  made  her  reputation  b}'  it,  for  the  piece  was 
redeemed.  All  the  newspapers  gave  her  an  ovation, 
and  she  became  from  that  day  the  great  actress  that  we 
all  know  her, 

Florine's  triumph  exasperated  Lucien  to  the  last 
degree. 


Cfreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    393 


a 


A  miserable  creature,  whose  bread  you  3'ourself  put 
into  her  mouth  !  "  he  cried.  "  If  the  G3'mnase  chooses, 
it  may  buy  back  3'our  engagement.  I  shall  be  Comte 
de  Rubempre,  I  shall  make  a  fortune,  and  I  will  marry 
you." 

"What  nonsense  !  "  said  Coralie,  with  a  pallid  glance. 

"Nonsense?"  cried  Lucien  ;  "I  tell  3'ou  in  a  few 
davs  you  shall  live  in  a  fine  house,  and  have  your  car- 
riage,  and  I  will  write  3'ou  a  role." 

He  took  two  thousand  francs  and  rushed  to  Fras- 
cati's.  The  unhappy  man  was  there  for  seven  hours, 
pursued  b3'  furies,  though  calm  and  cold  outwardly. 
During  that  da3^  and  part  of  the  night  he  had  the  most 
diverse  vicissitudes  ;  he  won  as  much  as  thirt3^  thou- 
sand francs,  and  left  the  place  without  a  penny.  When 
he  reached  home  he  found  Finot  waiting  to  speak  to 
him  about  his  "  little  articles."  Lucien  committed  the 
great  mistake  of  complaining  to  him. 

"Ah  !  all  is  not  couleur  de  rose!"  said  Finot.  "  You 
made  3'our  right-about-face  so  abruptly  that  it  is  no 
wonder  you  lost  the  support  of  the  liberal  press,  which 
is  twice  as  powerful  as  the  ministerial  and  royalist 
press.  No  one  ought  ever  to  go  from  one  camp  to  the 
other  without  having  made  himself  a  good  bed  where 
he  can  take  his  comfort  for  the  losses  he  is  sure  to  meet 
with.  But,  in  an3^  case,  a  sensible  man  goes  to  see  his 
friends  and  explain  his  reasons,  and  take  some  advice 
on  his  change  of  front.  His  friends  ma3'  pity  him,  but 
they  will  still  be  comrades  (as  we  are  with  Nathan  and 
Merlin),  and  give  and  take  mutual  services.  Wolves 
don't  eat  each  other.  But  instead  of  that,  vou  have 
been  as  innocent  as  a  lamb.     You  '11  be  forced  to  show 


394     Grreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

your  teeth  to  your  new  friends  if  you  expect  to  get  bite 
or  sup  out  of  them.  Thej-  are  sacrificing  you  now  to 
Nathan.  Besides  this,  I  hear  there  's  a  great  outcry 
and  scandal  in  another  quarter  about  your  article  against 
d'Arthez.  Marat  is  a  saint  compared  to  3'ou.  When 
your  book  comes  out,  it  will  be  attacked  and  perhaps 
destroyed.     By  the  bye,  where  is  that  book  ?  " 

"  Here  are  the  last  sheets  of  it,"  said  Lucien,  showing 
a  packet  of  proofs. 

"All  the  articles  in  the  ministerial  and  ultra  papers 
against  that  little  d'Arthez  that  are  not  signed  are 
attributed  to  you.  The  pin- pricks  in  the  'Re veil' 
against  the  fraternit}'  in  the  rue  des  Quatre- Vents  are 
very  amusing,  and  all  the  more  so  because  they  bring 
blood.  But  there  is  a  grave  and  serious  political  coterie 
behind  that  paper  of  L6on  Giraud's,  —  a  coterie  of  men 
to  whom  power  will  belong,  sooner  or  later." 

"  I  have  not  set  foot  in  the  '  Reveil '  office  for  the  last 
week  !  "  exclaimed  Lucien. 

"  Well,  think  about  m}^  little  articles.  Write  me  fift}' 
at  once,  and  I  '11  pay  for  them  in  a  lump  ;  but  they  must 
have  the  color  of  my  paper." 

Finot  then  went  on  to  tell  Lucien  in  a  casual  way 
about  a  joke  the}^  were  getting  off  on  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seals, —  an  anecdote,  he  said,  that  was  going  the  rounds 
of  the  salons. 

To  repair  his  losses  at  pla}",  Lucien  set  to  work  upon 
the  articles.  In  spite  of  his  depression,  he  recovered 
much  of  the  vigor  and  freshness  of  his  mind,  and  wrote 
thirt}'  of  two  columns  each.  After  the}^  were  finished  he 
went  to  Dauriat's,  knowing  that  he  should  find  Finot 
there,  and  wishing  to  give  him  the  articles  privately ; 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    395 

moreover,  he  wanted  to  make  the  pubhsher  explain  him- 
self as  to  the  non-publication  of  the  "  Daisies."  He  found 
the  place  full  of  his  enemies.  Complete  silence  reigned 
as  soon  as  he  entered  ;  all  conversations  ceased.  Feel- 
ing himself  thus  shoved  back  to  the  lower  ranks  of 
journalism,  Lucien's  courage  rose.  He  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  had  said  to  Lousteau  in  the  alley  of  the 
Luxembourg,  — 

''  1  will  succeed!  " 

Dauriat  was  neither  patronizing  nor  kind.  He  was 
surly,  and  stood  on  his  rights.  He  should  bring  out 
the  "  Daisies"  when  it  suited  him  ;  he  was  waiting  till 
Lucien's  position  gave  them  a  chance  of  success  ;  be- 
sides, he  had  bought  the  sole  right  to  the  poems.  When 
Lucien  objected  that  Dauriat  was  bound  by  the  nature 
of  the  contract  to  bring  out  the  book,  the  publisher 
maintained  the  contrary,  and  declared  that  he  could  not 
be  held  legally  to  an  enterprise  he  thought  a  bad  one  ; 
he  alone  was  the  judge  of  that.  Besides,  there  was  one 
way  of  settling  the  matter  which  ever}"  court  would 
admit :  Lucien  might,  if  he  liked,  return  the  three  thou- 
sand francs,  take  back  his  book,  and  sell  it  to  some 
ro3'alist  publisher. 

Lucien  withdrew,  more  annoyed  b}^  Dauriat's  mode- 
rate tone  than  he  had  been  b}*  his  pompous  impertinence 
at  their  first  meeting.  He  saw  plainly  that  the  "Daisies " 
would  never  be  published  until  he  had  either  the  auxil- 
iar}'  force  of  some  powerful  connections  or  had  become 
a  power  in  himself.  The  poet  walked  slowlj''  home- 
ward, —  a  prey  to  a  disheartenment  which  would  have 
led  him  to  suicide  could  action  have  followed  thought. 
He  found  Coralie  in  bed  pale  and  suffering. 


396     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  Get  her  a  part,  or  she  will  die  !  "  said  Berenice,  while 
Lucien  was  dressing  to  go  to  the  rue  du  Mont-Blanc, 
where  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  to  give  a  great 
part}',  at  which  he  was  sure  to  meet  des  Lupeaulx, 
Claude  Vignon,  Blondet,  Madame  d'Espard,  and  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton. 

The  party  was  given  for  Conti,  the  famous  composer, 
who  possessed  one  of  the  most  beautiful  voices  ever 
heard  off  the  stage.  Cinti-Damoreau,  Pasta,  Garcia, 
Levasseur,  and  two  or  three  other  voices  celebrated  in 
the  great  world,  were  also  present.  Lucien  slipped 
round  to  the  side  of  the  room  where  Madame  d'Espard, 
her  cousin,  and  Madame  de  Montcornet  were  seated. 
The  unhapp}^  3'Oiiiig  man  assumed  a  gay,  contented, 
happy  manner ;  he  talked  and  laughed  with  all  the  ease 
of  his  splendid  da3's  ;  he  was  determined  not  to  seem  to 
have  need  of  the  world.  He  dwelt  on  the  services  he  was 
now  doing  to  the  royalist  party,  —  proved,  he  said,  by  the 
cries  of  hatred  the  liberals  were  sending  after  him. 

"You  will  be  well  compensated,  my  friend,"  said 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  with  a  gracious  smile.  "  Go  to 
the  chancellor's  office  the  day  after  to-morrow  with 
'  The  Heron '  and  des  Lupeaulx,  and  obtain  3'our  letters- 
patent.  The  Keeper  of  the  Seals  is  to  take  the  papers 
to  the  chateau  ;  but  there  is  to  be  a  council,  and  he  will 
not  be  back  till  late.  Still,  if  I  know  the  result  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  I  will  send  to  you.  Where  do 
you  live  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  to  you,"  said  Lucien,  ashamed  to  say  that 
he  lived  in  the  rue  de  la  Lune. 

^'The  Dues  de  Lenoncourt  and  Navarreins  spoke  of 
you   to   the  king,"   said   Madame  d'Espard.      "The}' 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Pa7'is.    397 

assured  him  that  3'ou  were  devoting  3'our  talents  ab- 
sohitely  and  unreservedly  to  the  ro3'alist  cause,  and  that 
some  great  reward  should  be  given  to  compensate  you 
for  the  persecutions  of  the  liberal  part}' ;  and  they  rep- 
resented that  the  name  and  title  of  de  Rubempre,  to 
which  you  have  a  right  through  your  mother,  would 
receive  new  lustre  through  you.  The  king  told  his 
Highness  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  that  he  might  bring 
him  the  papers  authorizing  the  Sieur  Lucien  Chardon  to 
bear  the  name  and  title  of  Comte  de  Rubempre  in  his 
quality  as  grandson,  through  his  mother,  of  the  last 
count." 

Lucien  was  moved  to  a  gratitude  which  would  have 
softened  the  feelings  of  a  woman  less  deeplj'  wounded 
than  Louise  de  Bargeton.  Emboldened  by  his  coming 
success,  and  b}^  the  flattering  distinctions  which  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches  showed  to  him,  he  stayed  on  till 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  order  to  speak  to  his 
hostess  in  private.  He  had  learned  in  the  offices  of  the 
royalist  journals  that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was 
secretl}'  collaborating  in  a  pla^'  about  to  be  produced 
for  the  great  marvel  of  the  moment,  the  little  Fay. 
When  the  salons  were  empt}'  he  led  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  to  a  sofa  in  the  boudoir,  and  told  her  in  so 
touching  a  manner  the  misfortunes  that  had  fallen  upon 
Coralie  and  himself  that  she  promised  to  have  the 
leading  part  in  her  pla^'  assigned  to  Coralie. 

The  morning  after  this  part}',  while  Coralie,  made 
happy  by  the  promise  of  a  part,  was  breakfasting  with 
her  poet,  Lucien  sat  reading  Lousteau's  paper,  in  which 
was  an  epigrammatic  version  of  the  anecdote  said  to 
be  current  on  his  Highness  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals 


398     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

and  his  wife.  The  blackest  spite  la}^  hidden  beneath 
its  incisive  wit.  The  king  was  cleverl}^  exhibited  and 
ridiculed  in  a  wa}^  that  the  law  could  not  touch.  The 
following  is  the  tale  which  the  liberal  press  endeavored 
to  represent  as  a  fact,  but  which  reallj'  only  swelled  the 
number  of  its  witt}'  calumnies. 

The  passion  of  Louis  XVIII.  for  gallant  and  per- 
fumed correspondence,  well  spiced  with  madrigals  and 
epigram,  was  called  the  last  expression  of  love,  now 
growing  doctrinaire ;  he  was  passing,  the}^  said,  from 
fact  to  idea.  The  famous  mistress  (so  cruelly  attacked 
by  Beranger  under  the  name  of  Octavie)  was  becoming 
much  alarmed.  Their  correspondence  languished.  The 
more  wit  and  brillianc}'  Octavie  displa3'ed,  the  colder 
and  stiffer  grew  the  king.  Octavie  at  last  discovered 
the  cause  of  her  loss  of  favor  ;  her  power  was  threatened 
b}'  the  spiciness  and  muskiness  of  a  new  correspondence 
latel}'  begun  with  the  wife  of  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals. 
This  excellent  woman  was  known  to  be  incapable  of 
writing  a  note  ;  she  was  evidentl}'  only  the  responsible 
editor  of  some  vaulting  ambition.  Who,  therefore, 
could  it  be  who  was  hiding  beneath  her  petticoat? 
After  various  secret  manoeuvres,  Octavie  discovered 
that  the  king  was  really  corresponding  with  his  minis- 
ter. Her  plans  were  laid  at  once.  B3'  the  help  of  a 
faithful  friend,  she  contrived  that  the  minister  should 
be  detained  at  the  Chambers  b}"  a  storm}'  debate,  during 
which  time  she  revealed  the  deception  to  the  king,  and 
roused  his  mortified  vanity.  Louis  XVIII.  flew  into  a 
passion  of  Bourbonian  anger  against  Octavie,  and  de- 
clared that  what  she  told  him  was  false.  Octavie  pro- 
posed immediate  proof,  and  persuaded  him  to  write  a 


Great  Man  of  the  Provmces  in  Paris,    399 

note  which  required  an  answer  on  the  spot.  The  luck- 
less woman,  taken  b}'  surprise,  sent  to  the  Chambers 
for  her  husband ;  but  he  was  then  in  the  middle  of  a 
speech  ;  the  wife  was  forced  to  reply,  with  much  toiling 
and  moihng  and  all  the  wit  she  could  muster.  ^'^  Your 
Keeper  of  the  Seals  can  improve  it  for  3'ou,"  cried 
Octavie,  laughing  at  the  king's  discomfiture. 

Though  a  lie  from  beginning  to  end,  the  article 
was  extremely  irritating  to  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals,  his 
wife,  and  the  King.  Des  Lupeaulx  (Finot  always  kept 
his  secret  )  was  said  to  have  invented  the  stor}'.  The 
spiteful  but  witt}'  article  was  a  joy  to  the  liberals  and 
also  to  the  partisans  of  Monsieur.  Lucien  laughed 
heartily  over  it,  regarding  the  tale  as  nothing  more  than 
a  ver}'  amusing  canard.  One  of  his  own  articles  ap- 
peared in  the  same  paper. 

The  next  day  he  went  as  directed  to  join  des  Lupeaulx 
and  du  Chatelet.  The  Baron  was  desirous  of  thanking 
His  Highness  on  his  own  account.  He  had  just  been 
named  councillor  of  State  on  special  service,  and  made 
count  with  a  promise  of  the  prefecture  of  the  Charente 
as  soon  as  the  present  prefect  had  completed  the  time 
necessar}'  to  retire  on  a  full  pension.  The  Corate  du 
Chatelet  (for  the  du  was  duly  inserted  in  the  ordinance) 
took  Lucien  in  his  carriage  and  treated  him  as  an  equal. 

The  persecution  of  the  liberals  had  reallj-  been  a 
pedestal  for  him ;  without  Lucien's  articles  he  might 
not  have  been  accepted  so  quickh'. 

Des  Lupeaulx  was  already  at  the  ministr}',  in  the  office 
of  the  secretarv-sjeneral.  That  functionarv  no  sooner 
caught  sight  of  Lucien  than  he  gave  a  start  of  aston- 
ishment. 


400       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

"  I   am    amazed,   monsieur,    that    3'oii   venture    to 
present   yourself  here, "  he  said  to  the  surprised   and 
stupefied  Lucien.     "  His    Highness   has  torn  up   your 
ordinance.       He    wished    to   know   the    author   of  the 
shameless  article  published  3'esterday  ;  here  is  a  cop}-  of 
the  paper, "  continued  the    secretary,  holding  out  the 
sheet,  in  which  Lucien's  own  article  appeared.     "You 
claim   to   be  a  royalist  and   to   be   doing   services  to 
the    royalist    cause,    and    yet    3'ou    are    collaborating 
with  that  infamous  paper,  which  insults  the  ministers, 
embarrasses    the    Centres,   and    is    forcing    them    into 
an  abvss  !     You  breakfast  on  the  '  Corsaire,'  '  Miroir,' 
'  Constitutionnel,'    and    '  Courrier ; '   you   dine   off  the 
'  Quotidienne'  and    the    •  Reveil ; '    and   you    sup    with 
Martainville,  the    most   formidable    antagonist   of  the 
ministr}^  who  is  forcing  the  King  into  absolutism,  which 
will  bring  on  a  revolution  just  as  surely  as  though  he 
flung  himself  into  the  arms  of  the  Left.     You  may  be  a 
very  witt}^  journalist,  but  you  will  never  be  anything 
else.     The  minister   has    denounced  you  to  the  King, 
who  in  his  anger  blamed  the    Due  de  Navarreins  for 
ever  mentioning  3'ou  to  him.     You  have  made  3'ourself 
powerful  enemies,  all  the  more  bitter  because  they  were 
favorable  to  3'ou.     That  which  is  natural  in  an  enemy 
is  shameful  in  a  friend." 

^'  M3'  dear  fellow,  you  have  behaved  like  a  child," 
said  des  Lupeaulx ;  "you  have  compromised  Madame 
d'Espard  and  Madame  de  Bargeton,  who  had  answered 
for  your  sincerit3'.  The3'  must  be  furious.  The  duke 
of  course  has  blamed  the  marquise,  and  the  marquise 
her  cousin.  You  had  better  not  go  and  see  them  at 
present.     Wait  awhile." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    401 

"Here  comes  His  Highness,'*  said  the  secretar}'- 
general ;  "•  I  request  3'ou  to  leave  the  room,  monsieur." 

Lucien  found  himself  on  the  place  Vendome,  as 
bewildered  as  a  man  who  has  just  been  knocked  down 
by  a  crushing  blow  on  the  head.  He  walked  home 
along  the  boulevards  trying  to  form  a  judgment  on  his 
life.  He  saw  himself  the  foot-ball  of  jealous,  grasping, 
and  treacherous  men.  What  was  he  in  this  world  of 
ambitions?  A  child  running  after  pleasures  and  the 
enjoyments  of  vanity  ;  a  poet,  without  deep  reflection, 
going  from  light  to  light  like  a  butterfly,  with  no  fixed 
plan,  the  slave  of  circumstances,  thinking  well  and 
acting  ill.  His  conscience  was  a  pitiless  judge.  And 
now  —  he  had  no  monev ;  he  felt  himself  exhausted 
with  life  and  sorrow ;  his  articles  were  set  aside  for 
those  of  Nathan  or  Merlin.  Thus  thinking,  he  walked 
he  knew  not  whither ;  presently  his  e3'e  caught,  in  the 
window  of  a  reading-room,  his  own  name  on  a  poster, 
"  By  Monsieur  Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempre  "  beneath 
the  strange,  odd  title  of  a  book  to  him  unknown.  His 
book  was  out,  and  he  knew  nothing  of  it !  —  not  a  paper 
had  mentioned  it !  He  stood  before  the  window,  with 
hanging  arms,  quite  motionless,  not  perceiving  a  group 
of  elegant  3'oung  men,  among  them  Rastignac,  de 
Marsay,  and  others  of  his  acquaintance.  Neither  did 
he  notice  Michel  Chrestien  and  Leon  Giraud,  who  came 
up  to  him. 

"Are  you  Monsieur  Chardon?"  said  Michel  in  a 
tone  that  made  Lucien's  ver^'  entrails  resound  like  the 
striking  of  a  chord. 

"  Do  not  you  know  me  ?  "  he  answered,  turning  pale. 

Michel  spat  in  his  face. 

26 


402     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

'"'  That  is  your  fee  for  your  articles  against  d'Artliez. 
If  every  man,  on  his  own  behalf  or  on  that  of  his  friends, 
did  as  I  have  done,  the  press  would  become  what  it 
ought  to  be, —  a  priesthood,  self-respecting  and  re- 
spected." 

Lucien  staggered  ;  he  leaned  against  Rastignac,  say- 
ing to  him  and  to  de  Marsay  :  "  Gentlemen,  you  can- 
not refuse  to  be  my  seconds.  But  first  I  will  make  the 
matter  equal." 

So  saying  he  struck  Michel  a  blow  in  the  face  which 
took  him  unawares ;  the  dandies  and  Michel's  friends 
threw  themselves  between  the  two  men,  that  there 
might  be  no  public  struggle.  Rastignac  took  posses- 
sion of  Lucien  and  carried  him  to  his  own  house,  rue 
Taitbout,  close  to  the  scene  of  this  affair,  which  took 
place  on  the  boulevard  de  Gand,  at  the  dinner  hour. 
This  fortunately  prevented  the  collecting  of  the  usual 
crowd  in  such  a  case.  De  Marsaj*  followed,  and 
together  they  forced  Lucien  to  come  and  dine  with 
them  ga3'l3'  at  the  Cafe  Anglais,  where  they  drank 
much. 

''  Are  you  good  with  swords?  "  asked  de  Marsay. 

"  I  never  had  one  in  m^'  hands." 

""  Pistols?  "  said  Rastignac. 

"  I  never  in  my  life  fired  a  pistol." 

"  Then  you  've  luck  on  your  side  ;  you  '11  be  a  terrible 
antagonist ;  3'ou  'II  kill  your  man,"  said  de  Marsa^'. 

Lucien  fortunate!}'  found  Coralie  in  bed  and  asleep 
when  he  got  home.  The  actress  had  been  called  on 
to  play  unexpectedly  in  a  little  piece,  and  she  had  won 
much  genuine  applause  that  was  not  paid  for.  This 
success,  which  was  quite  unexpected  b}^  her  enemies, 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    403 

determined  the  manager  to  give  Coralie  the  leading 
part  in  Camille  Maupin's  pla}'.  He  bad  ended  by 
discovering  the  cause  of  her  failure  on  her  first  appear- 
ance. Provoked  hy  the  intrigues  of  Florine  and  Nathan 
against  an  actress  whom  he  himself  thought  well  of, 
the  manager  promised  Coralie  the  protection  of  the 
directors. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  Rastignac  came  to 
fetch  Lucien. 

"  M}'  good  fellow,  your  rooms  are  in  keeping  with 
your  street,"  he  said,  by  way  of  greeting.  "  Let  us  be 
first  on  the  ground  ;  it  is  good  style,  and  we  owe  those 
men  a  good  example." 

"This  is  the  programme,"  said  de  Marsay,  as  the 
hackne3^-coach  was  rolling  along  the  faubourg  Saint- 
Denis :  "You  fight  with  pistols,  at  twent3'-tive  paces, 
walking  as  3'ou  please  towards  each  other  up  to  fifteen 
paces.  You  have  each  five  steps  to  take,  and  three 
shots  to  fire,  not  more.  Whatever  happens,  3'ou  are 
bound  to  go  no  farther  with  the  affair.  We  load  3'our 
adversary's  pistols,  and  liis  seconds  load  3'ours.  The 
weapons  were  chosen  b3'  all  four  seconds  at  a  gun- 
smith's. I  promise  3'ou  we've  helped  3'our  luck, — 
the3'  are  cavalry  pistols." 

As  for  Lucien,  life  had  become  to  him  a  bad  dream, 
and  he  was  quite  indifferent  whether  he  lived  or  died. 
Courage  of  the  sort  peculiar  to  suicide  gave  him,  there- 
fore, a  fine  appearance  of  braver3'  iu  the  e3'es  of  the 
spectators  of  this  duel.  He  stood  still,  without  advanc- 
ing from  his  place.  This  indifference  was  considered  a 
piece  of  cool  calculation.  The3'  all  thought  the  poet 
proved  himself  "  a  strong  man." 


404     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Michel  Chrestien  advanced  to  his  limit.  The  two 
men  fired  simultaneous!}',  for  the  insults  were  regarded 
as  equal.  At  the  first  shot,  Chrestien's  ball  grazed 
Lucien's  chin,  while  Lucien's  went  ten  feet  over  his  ad- 
versaria's head.  At  the  second  shot,  Michel's  ball  went 
through  the  collar  of  Lucien's  coat,  which  was  fortu- 
natel}^  wadded.  At  the  third,  Lucien  received  a  ball  in 
the  breast  and  fell. 

"Is  he  dead?"  asked  Michel. 

"  No,"  said  the  surgeon  ;   "he  '11  get  over  it." 

"  So  much  the  worse  !  "  replied  Michel. 

"  Oh,  yes,  so  much  the  worse !  "  repeated  Lucien, 
burstinfy  into  tears. 

B}^  mid-da}'  the  unhapp}'  lad  was  in  his  own  bed  ;  it 
had  taken  five  hours  and  ii^nite  care  to  get  him  there. 
Though  his  condition  was  without  immediate  danger,  it 
required  the  utmost  precaution  ;  fever  might  set  in,  and 
produce  very  serious  complications.  Coralie  stifled  her 
own  despair  and  grief  During  all  the  time  he  was  in 
danger,  she  nursed  hy  da}',  and  sat  up  at  night  with 
Berenice  studying  her  parts.  Lucien's  danger  lasted 
two  months.  Often  the  poor  girl  played  some  role 
which  needed  gayety  while  she  was  saying  in  her  heart : 
"Perhaps  my  dear  Lucien  is  dying  at  this  moment ! " 


Great  3fan  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      405 


xxiy. 


ADIEU  ! 

During  his  illness  Lucien  was  attended  b}'  Bianchon. 
He  owed  his  life  to  the  devotion  of  that  friend,  griev- 
ously offended,  but  to  whom  d'Arthez  had  confided  the 
fact  of  Lucien's  visit  to  him,  defending,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, the  unfortunate  poet.  In  a  lucid  moment,  for 
Lucien  had  a  nervous  fever  of  extreme  gravity,  Bian- 
chon, who  suspected  d'Arthez  of  some  generosity,  ques- 
tioned his  patient  as  to  the  real  facts,  and  Lucien  told 
him  that  he  had  never  written  any  article  against 
d  'Arthez's  book  except  the  grave  and  serious  criticism 
corrected  by  d'Arthez  himself,  and  published  in  Hector 
Merlin's  paper. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  month,  Fendant  and  Cavalier 
went  into  bankruptcy.  Bianchon  told  Coralie  that  she 
must  conceal  this  frightful  blow  from  Lucien.  The 
much-talked-of  novel,  "The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.," 
published  under  a  sensational  name,  had  no  success 
whatever.  To  get  a  little  money  for  himself  before 
their  failure,  Fendant,  unknown  to  Cavalier,  had  sold 
the  work  in  a  block  to  a  petty  bookseller  who  had  sent 
it  about  b}'  peddlers.  It  was  now  adorning  the  para- 
pets of  the  bridges  and  quays  of  Paris.  Barbet,  on  the 
Quai  des  Augustins,  who  had  previously  taken  quite  a 
number  of  copies,  found  himself  out  of  pocket  to  a  con- 


406     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

siderable  sum  by  this  sudden  abatement  of  their  value. 
He  had  not  foreseen  it,  for  he  beheved  in  Lucien's  tal- 
ent, and  had  rashl}^  purchased  two  hundred  copies  at 
four  francs  and  a  half  apiece,  which  would  now  bring 
only  half  a  franc.  Alarmed  by  such  a  loss,  Barbet  took 
an  heroic  measure :  he  put  away  his  copies  with  the  ob- 
stinacy of  a  miser,  saw  his  competitors  selling  theirs 
for  almost  nothing,  and  in  1824,  when  two  articles  b}' 
Leon  Giraud  called  attention  to  the  real  merit  of  the 
book  and  to  d'Arthez's  fine  preface,  Barbet  sold  his 
two  hundred  copies  for  ten  francs  apiece. 

In  spite  of  ever}-  endeavor  on  the  part  of  Coralie  and 
Berenice,  they  were  unable  to  prevent  Hector  Merlin 
from  gaining  access  to  Lucien  during  his  illness,  and 
through  him  the  poor  poet  was  made  to  drink  the  bitter 
cup  to  the  dregs.  Martainville,  the  only  friend  now 
faithful  to  Lucien,  wrote  a  fine  article  in  favor  of  the 
book ;  but  the  exasperation  of  all  parties,  liberals  and 
ro3'alists,  was  such  against  the  editor-in-chief  of  the 
"  Drapeau  Blanc,"  the  "  Oriflamme,"  and  "  Aristarque,*' 
that  his  efl^orts  did  Lucien  more  harm  than  good. 

After  this,  Coralie,  Berenice,  and  Bianchon  shut 
Lucien's  door  with  a  firm  hand  asjainst  all  his  so-called 
friends,  but  they  could  not  shut  it  against  the  sheriff. 
The  failure  of  Fendant  and  Cavalier  made  the  amount 
of  their  notes  irrecoverable  b}'  a  third  part}^  in  virtue  of 
a  provision  in  the  commercial  code.  Lucien  was  there- 
fore sued  by  Camusot.  When  Coralie  read  that  name 
attached  to  the  papers,  she  saw  at  once  the  painful  and 
humiliating  step  her  poet  —  to  her  so  angelic  —  had 
taken  for  her  sake.  Her  love  was  increased  tenfold, 
and  she  made  no  eflTort  to  soften  Camusot. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      407 

When,  after  the  usual  legal  preliminaries,  the  sheriff's 
officers  came  to  arrest  Lucien,  the}^  found  him  in  bed, 
and  they  hesitated  to  remove  so  sick  a  man.  Before 
obtaining  an  order  from  the  court  to  place  their  prisoner 
in  one  of  the  hospitals,  they  went  to  see  Camusot,  in 
whose  suit  they  were  acting.  Camusot  went  instantl}" 
to  the  rue  de  la  Lune.  Coralie  was  called  downstairs 
to  see  him,  and  returned  bringing  papers  which  released 
Lucien  and  declared  him  solvent.  How  had  she  ob- 
tained them?  What  promise  had  she  made?  She 
maintained  a  gloomy  silence,  but  death  was  in  her  face 
as  she  came  up  the  stairs. 

Coralie  pla3'ed  in  Camille  Maupin's  piece,  and 
contributed  much  to  the  success  of  that  illustrious 
woman.  The  creation  of  this  role  was  the  last  sparkle 
of  her  lamp.  At  the  twentieth  representation,  just  as 
Lucien,  recovering,  was  beginning  to  move  about  and 
eat,  and  to  talk  of  working,  Coralie  fell  ill ;  an  inward 
grief  was  preying  upon  her.  Berenice  alwaj's  believed 
that  to  save  Lucien  she  had  promised  to  return  to 
Camusot. 

The  actress  had  the  mortification  of  seeing  her  role 
given  to  Florine.  Nathan  had  declared  war  against  the 
Gj'mnase  unless  Florine  succeeded  her.  B3'  playing 
her  part  to  the  last  instant  rather  than  have  it  taken 
from  it  b}"  her  rival,  Coralie  had  gone  beyond  her 
strength.  The  Gymnase  had  made  her  some  advances 
on  her  pay  during  Lucien's  illness,  and  there  was 
nothing  more  to  come  to  her.  Lucien  himself,  with 
the  best  intentions,  was  still  unable  to  work  ;  moreover, 
he  was  forced  to  nurse  Coralie  to  relieve  Berenice.  The 
poor  household  was  now  reduced  to  dire  distress ;  yet 


408     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

even  here  they  found  a  friend  in  Bianchon,  —  a  clever 
and  devoted  physician,  who  gave  them  a  credit  at  the 
chemist's. 

But  soon  their  situation  became  known  to  the  owner 
of  the  house  in  which  they  Uved,  and  to  the  tradesmen 
who  supplied  them.  Their  furniture  was  seized.  The 
tailor  and  the  dressmaker,  no  longer  fearing  the  jour- 
nalist, sued  them.  No  one  would  give  them  credit 
except  the  chemist  and  the  charcutier^  where  the  cheap- 
est parts  of  pork  are  sold.  Lucien  and  Berenice  and  the 
poor  sick  girl  lived  for  a  week  soleh'  on  scraps  of  pork 
cooked  in  the  various  ingenious  ways  known  to  char- 
cutiers.  Such  food,  inflammatory  in  its  nature,  aggra- 
vated Coralie's  illness.  Lucien,  driven  by  this  miser}-, 
went  to  find  Lousteau  and  ask  him  for  the  thousand 
francs  that  former  friend,  that  traitor,  owed  him.  In 
the  midst  of  all  his  wretchedness,  this  was  the  step  that 
cost  him  most. 

Lousteau  no  longer  dared  to  go  to  the  rue  de  la 
Harpe  ;  his  creditors  pursued  him,  and  he  slept  about 
in  the  rooms  of  his  friends,  hunted  like  a  hare.  Lucien 
at  last  found  his  fatal  sponsor  in  the  literary  world  at 
Flicoteaux's.  Etienne  was  dining  at  the  ver}^  table 
where  Lucien  had  met  him,  to  his  sorrow,  on  the  day 
he  left  d'Arthez's  side.  Lousteau  offered  him  some 
dinner,  and  Lucien  accepted !  When,  as  they  left 
Flicoteaux's,  Claude  Vignon  (who  dined  there  that 
day),  Lousteau,  Lucien,  and  the  great  writer  who  had 
changed  his  coat  at  Samanon's,  wished  to  go  to  the  cafe 
Voltaire  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  they  had  not  thirty  sous 
among  them  when  they  emptied  the  coppers  from  their 
pockets.   They  walked  about  the  gardens  of  the  Luxem- 


G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    409 

bourg  hoping  to  meet  some  publisher  the}^  knew.  It 
did  so  happen  that  a  famous  printer  of  that  da}'  came 
towards  them,  and  of  him  Lousteau  asked  and  obtained 
forty  francs.  Lousteau  divided  the  sum  into  four  equal 
parts,  and  each  took  one.  Misery  had  quenched  all 
pride,  all  sensitiveness,  in  Lucien  ;  he  wept  before  his 
three  companions  as  he  told  them  his  situation.  But 
each  had  a  drama  of  his  own  as  cruelly  horrible  as  his ; 
and  when  their  conditions  were  all  made  known,  Lucien 
beheld  himself  the  least  unhappy  of  the  four.  Thus  all 
were  craving  to  forget  their  sorrows,  and  their  thoughts, 
which  doubled  those  sorrows.  Lousteau  rushed  to  the 
Palais-Roval  and  o-ambled  the  nine  francs  that  remained 
to  him.  The  illustrious  writer  went  to  a  vile,  contami- 
nated house  to  plunge  into  pleasures  still  more  danger- 
ous. Vignon  turned  to  the  Petit  Rocher  de  Cancale, 
meaning  to  drink  two  bottles  of  Bordeaux,  and  abdicate 
both  mind  and  memor}'.  Lucien  left  him  at  the  door 
of  that  restaurant,  refusing  to  go  in.  The  grasp  which 
the  great  man  of  the  provinces  gave  to  the  hand  of  the 
only  journalist  who  had  not  been  hostile  to  him  was 
accompanied  b}'  a  spasm  of  the  heart. 

'.'  What  shall  I  do?"  he  cried. 

"Ah  !  "  said  the  great  critic,  "  in  this  world  we  must 
go  with  the  crowd.  Your  book  is  a  fine  one  ;  but  it  has 
made  men  jealous  of  3'ou,  Your  struggle  will  be  long 
and  difficult.  Genius  is  a  horrible  disease  ;  every  writer 
bears  in  his  heart  a  monster,  like  a  tapeworm  in  the 
stomach,  devouring  the  feelings  as  soon  as  they  unfold. 
Which  will  conquer,  —  the  disease  or  the  man?  Surely 
the  man  must  be  great  indeed  to  keep  his  balance  be- 
tween his  genius  and  his  nature.     Talent  grows,  the 


410     Crreat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

heart  withers.  Short  of  being  a  colossus,  or  of  having 
the  shoulders  of  a  Hercules,  he  must  end  without  a 
heart  or  without  a  brain.  You  are  frail  and  deli- 
cate, 3"ou  will  succumb,"  he  added,  turning  in  to  the 
restaurant. 

Lucien  walked  on  meditating  that  dreadful  judgment, 
th^  truth  of  which  glared  like  a  flame  upon  his  literary 
life. 

"  Money  !  mone}' !  "  cried  a  voice  within  him. 

He  went  home  and  drew  three  notes  of  a  thousand 
francs  each  to  his  own  order,  payable  at  one,  two,  and 
three  months'  sight,  and  signed  them  with  a  wonderful 
imitation  of  David  Sechard's  signature  ;  then,  on  the 
following  da}',  he  took  them  to  Metivier,  the  paper- 
maker,  David's  correspondent  in  the  rue  Serpente,  who 
discounted  them  without  hesitation.  Lucien  wrote  a 
few  lines  to  his  brother-in-law  telling  him  what  he  had 
done,  and  promising,  of  course,  to  obtain  the  money  in 
time  to  meet  the  notes.  His  debts  and  Coralie's  paid, 
there  remained  three  hundred  francs,  which  Lucien 
placed  with  Berenice,  telling  her  not  to  give  him  a 
penny  if  he  asked  for  it ;  he  was  afraid  the  desire  to 
gamble  might  seize  upon  him. 

The  unhapp3'  man,  inspired  by  cold  ftuy,  gloomy, 
taciturn,  wrote  his  wittiest  articles  b}'  the  glimmer  of 
a  lamp  as  he  watched  by  Coralie.  Searching  for  ideas, 
his  e3"es  rested  on  that  loved  creature,  white  as  por- 
celain, beautiful  with  the  beaut}'  of  the  dying,  smiling 
with  pallid  lips  to  him,  gazing  upon  him  with  the  bril- 
liant eyes  of  women  who  die  of  grief  as  much  as  of  ill- 
ness. Lucien  sent  his  articles  to  tlie  papers  ;  but  as  he 
could  not  go  to  the  offices  himself  to  worrj'  or  to  entreat 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      411 

the  editors-in-chief,  thev  were  not  inserted.  When,  at 
last,  he  was  forced  to  go,  Theodore  Gaillard,  who  had 
made  him  some  advances,  and  who,  at  a  later  period, 
profited  b}'  the  literary  diamonds  he  thns  obtained, 
received  him  coldly. 

"  Mind  what  you  are  about,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said 
to  him;  "you  are  losing  3'our  wit;  don't  let  3'ourself 
down  ;  you  want  more  sparkle  and  liveliness." 

"That  little  Lucien  had  nothing  but  liis  novel  and 
those  first  articles  in  his  pouch,"  cried  Vernou,  Merlin, 
and  all  the  others  who  liated  him,  when  the}'  talked  him 
over  at  Dauriat's  or  in  the  foyer  of  the  Vaudeville  ; 
"he  sends  us  wretched  stuff!" 

To  have  nothing  in  his  pouch  —  that  hallowed 
phrase  of  journalistic  slang  —  is  a  sovereign  judgment, 
from  which  it  is  difficult  to  appeal  when  once  pro- 
nounced. That  saying,  hawked  about  everywhere, 
killed  Lucien  professional!}-,  though  Lucien  did  not 
know  it,  for  by  that  time  his  troubles  were  greater 
than  he  could  bear.  In  the  midst  of  his  crushinfi:  toil 
he  was  sued  by  Metivier  for  David  Sechard's  notes. 
He  had  recourse  to  Camusot's  experience,  and  Coralie's 
old  lover  was  generous  enough  to  protect  him.  This 
dreadful  condition  of  things  lasted  two  months,  —  two 
terrible  months  crowded  with  legal  forms,  notifications, 
summonses,  injunctions  ;  all  of  which  Lucien,  by  Camu- 
sot's advice,  referred  to  Desroches  the  lawyer,  a  friend 
of  Bixiou,  Blondet,  and  des  Lupeaulx. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  month  of  August,  Bianchon 
told  Lucien  that  Coralie  was  doomed,  and  had  but  a 
few  days  more  to  live.  Berenice  and  Lucien  spent  those 
fatal  days  in  weeping,  unable  to  conceal  their  anguish 


412      Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

from  that  poor  girl  whose  despair  at  dying  was  all  for 
Lueien.  B}^  a  strange  return  upon  herself,  Coralie  re- 
quested Lucien  to  fetch  a  priest.  She  wanted  to  be 
pardoned  by  the  Church  and  to  die  in  peace.  She  made 
a  Christian  end,  and  her  repentance  was  sincere. 

This  dying  scene,  this  death,  took  from  Lucien  the 
last  remnants  of  his  strength  and  courage.  He  sat  in 
utter  abandonment  at  the  foot  of  Coralie's  bed,  never 
ceasing  to  gaze  at  her  till  her  eyes  were  turned  b}^  the 
hand  of  death.  It  was  then  five  in  the  morning.  A 
bird  came  and  lighted  on  the  flower-pots  outside  the 
window  and  warbled  a  few  notes.  Berenice,  on  her 
knees,  kissed  the  dying  hand  which  grew  cold  beneath 
her  tears.  Eleven  sous  were  on  the  chimne3'-piece. 
Lucien  went  out,  driven  b}'  despair,  which  told  him 
to  ask  alms  in  the  street  to  bury  his  mistress,  or  fling 
himself  at  the  feet  of  Madame  d'Espard,  the  Comte 
du  Chatelet,  Madame  de  Bargeton,  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  or  even  that  terrible  man  of  fashion  de  Mar- 
sa}'.  No  pride,  no  strength,  remained  to  him.  To  get 
this  money  he  would  even  have  enlisted.  He  walked 
along  with  the  sinking,  disordered  gait  of  a  hopeless 
being  until  he  came  to  the  house  of  Camille  Maupin, 
which  he  entered,  without  the  least  thought  of  his  dis- 
ordered clothes,  and  asked  to  see  her. 

"  Mademoiselle  went  to  bed  at  three  in  the  morning, 
and  no  one  can  disturb  her  until  she  rings  "  said  the 
footman. 

"At  what  hour  does  she  ring?" 

"  Never  before  ten  o'clock." 

Lucien  asked  for  paper,  and  then  wrote  one  of  those 
awful  letters  in  which  a  beggar  of  qualit}-  shrinks  from 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris,    413 

nothing.  One  evening,  not  so  long  ago,  he  had  doubted 
the  possibiUty  of  such  debasement  when  Lousteau  told 
him  of  the  entreaties  made  to  Finot  bj-  young  writers  ; 
and  now  his  own  pen  went  beyond  the  limits  he  had 
then  thought  so  impossible.  Returning,  half  imbecile, 
along  the  boulevard,  little  knowing  what  a  masterpiece 
of  dreadful  power  despair  had  dictated  to  him,  he  met 
Barbet. 

"  Barbet,  five  hundred  francs  !  "  he  said,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

"No,  two  hundred,"  replied  the  publisher. 

"  Ah  !  you  have  a  heart !  " 

"Yes,  but  I  have  also  a  business.  You  have  made 
me  lose  a  great  deal  of  money,"  he  added,  after  relating 
the  failure  of  Fendant  and  Cavalier;  "will  you  help 
me  earn  some?" 

Lucien  shuddered. 

"  You  are  a  poet;  you  ought  to  know  how  to  make 
all  kinds  of  verses,"  continued  Barbet.  "  Just  now  I 
am  in  want  of  some  ribald  songs  to  mix  in  with  other 
songs  taken  from  different  authors,  and  so  escape  being 
sued  for  piracy.  I  want  to  make  a  prett}^  little  collec- 
tion and  sell  it  for  ten  sous.  If  you  will  send  me  to- 
morrow ten  good  drinking-songs,  or  something  smutt}', 
you  know,  I  '11  pa}-  you  two  hundred  francs  on  the 
spot." 

Lucien  went  home.  Coralie  la}'  rigid  on  a  flock  bed, 
wrapped  in  a  common  sheet  which  Berenice  was  sewing 
up.  The  peasant-w^oman  had  lighted  four  candles  at 
the  corners  of  the  bed.  From  Coralie's  face  shone  forth 
that  flower  of  beaut}"  which  speaks  in  so  clear  a  voice 
to  the  living,  expressing  absolute  peace.     She  was  like 


414       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  i7i  Paris, 

those  innocent  young  girls  who  die  of  anaemic  mala- 
dies. It  seemed  as  though  her  violet  lips  would  part 
and  murmur  Lucien's  name,  —  that  name  which,  joined 
to  that  of  God,  had  taken  her  last  breath.  Lucien  told 
Berenice  to  order  from  the  Pompes  Funfebres  a  funeral 
costing  two  hundred  francs,  including  services  in  the 
humble  church  of  Bonne-Nouvelle. 

As  soon  as  Berenice  had  left  the  house,  the  poet  drew 
his  table  beside  the  body  of  his  love,  and  wrote  the  ten 
songs  ordered,  with  lively  thoughts  to  popular  airs.  He 
went  through  tortures  before  he  could  begin  them  ;  but 
he  ended  by  coercing  his  mind  to  the  service  of  necessit}', 
and  wrote  as  if  he  were  not  suffering.  Already  he  jus- 
tified Claude  Vignon's  terrible  dictum  on  the  separation 
of  heart  and  brain.  What  a  night  was  this  in  which 
the  unhappy  lad  sought  poes}'  to  offer  it  to  ribakby, 
writing  b}'  the  light  of  the  tapers,  beside  the  priest  who 
pra3ed  for  Coralie  !  In  the  morning  he  finished  his  last 
song,  and  set  it  to  an  air  in  vogue.  Berenice  and  the 
priest  believed  him  mad  as  they  heard  him  sing  these 
dreadful  verses  :  — 

"  Dear  comrades,  a  song  with  a  moral 
Is  ever  a  tiresome  thing ; 
For  why  should  we  seek  after  wisdom 

When  Folly  alone  is  our  king  V 
Besides,  any  chorus  will  do 
When  we  drink  with  a  vagabond  crew ; 
Epicurus  declares  this  is  true. 
No  room  for  the  car  of  Apollo 
When  the  chariot  of  Bacchus  we  follow. 
For  good  or  for  evil 
We  laugh  and  we  quaff,  we  quaff  and  we  laugh, 
And  let  the  rest  go  to  the  devil ! 


Great  Man  of  the  Proviiices  in  Paris.      415 

"  Hippocrates  promised  long  living 

To  him  who  the  goblet  should  drain ; 
What  matter  if  one  leg  be  striving 

To  follow  the  other  in  vain, 
Provided  the  hand  can  fill  up, 
And  spill  not  a  drop  from  the  cup ! 
Provided  good  fellows  are  here 
Who  have  drunk  with  us  many  a  year 
Of  good  and  of  evil, 
Yet  still  laugh  and  quaff,  and  still  quaff  and  laugh, 
And  send  all  the  rest  to  the  devil ! 

"  If  any  man  ask  where  we  come  from 

'T  is  easy  enough  to  reply, 

But  clever  indeed  were  the  prophet 

Who  could  tell  where  we  go  when  we  die. 
Light-hearted  and  gay,  let  us  trust 
The  powers  above,  —  since  we  must ! 
It  is  certain  we  die ; 
While  we  live  let  us  fly 
From  trouble  and  evil, 
By  laughing  and  quaffing,  by  quaffing  and  laughing ; 
The  rest  may  all  go  the  devil !  " 

As  the  poet  was  singing  this  horrible  last  couplet, 
Bianchon  and  d'Arthez  entered.  Lucien  now  fell  back 
into  a  paroxj'sm  of  anguish  ;  he  shed  torrents  of  tears, 
and  was  quite  unable  to  cop}'  his  songs  for  the  printer. 
When,  amid  his  sobs,  he  was  able  to  explain  his  situa- 
tion to  his  friends,  tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  all  who 
heard  him. 

''  This,"  said  d'Arthez,  "  wipes  out  many  a  fault." 
"  Happy  those  who  find  hell  here  below ! "  said  the 
priest,  gravely. 


416     Great  Mem  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

That  spectacle  of  the  beautiful  dead  girl  smiling  at 
eternit}^ ;  her  lover  earning  her  funeral  with  ribakUy ; 
Barbet  paj^ing  for  her  grave  ;  the  four  candles  round 
the  actress  whose  scarlet  stockings  with  their  green 
clocks  had  lately-  made  a  whole  house  palpitate ;  the 
priest  who  had  pardoned  her  returning  to  his  church  to 
sa}'  a  mass  for  one  so  loved,  —  ah !  these  grandeurs, 
these  infamies,  these  sorrows,  crushed  b}'  the  hand  of 
necessity,  overcame  the  great  doctor  and  the  great 
writer,  and  they  sat  down  speechless,  unable  to  say 
a  word  !  Just  then  a  footman  came  in  to  announce 
Mademoiselle  dcs  Touches.  That  noble  woman  under- 
stood the  whole  scene.  She  went  eagerl}'  to  Lucien, 
grasped  his  hand,  and  left  two  notes  of  a  thousand 
francs  within  it. 

"  Too  late  !  "  he  said,  giving  her  a  look  like  that  of  a 
d34ng  man. 

D'Arthez,  Bianchon,  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
left  him  after  soothing  his  despair  with  gentle  words ; 
but  the  springs  of  life  seemed  broken  in  him. 

At  mid-day  the  brotherhood,  all  but  Michel  Chrestien 
(who,  however,  had  been  told  that  Lucien  was  not  as 
culpable  as  he  had  seemed),  were  assembled  in  the 
little  church  of  Bonne-Nouvelle,  together  with  Berenice 
and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  two  supernumeraries 
from  the  Gymnase,  Coralie's  dresser,  and  the  unhappy 
Camusot.  All  the  men  accompanied  the  coffin  to  Pere- 
Lachaise.  Camusot,  who  wept  bitterl}',  swore  solemnl}' 
to  Lucien  that  he  would  buy  the  piece  of  ground  in  per- 
petuity, and  place  a  little  column  on  the  grave  bearing 
the  words,  "  Coralie  :  Died,  aged  nineteen  years, 
August,  1822." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    417 

Liicien  remained  alone  until  the  sun  went  down  upon 
that  hill  from  which  his  e3'es  could  see  all  Paris. 

"  By  whom  shall  I  now  be  loved?"  he  asked  himself. 
"My  true  friends  despise  me.  Whatever  I  had  done, 
whatever  I  was,  seemed  good  and  noble  to  her  who  is 
lying  there !  I  have  no  one  left  but  my  sister,  and 
David,  and  my  mother !  What  are  the}'  thinking  of 
me  now?" 

When  he  returned  to  the  house  in  the  rue  de  la  Lune 
his  suffering  was  so  great  on  seeing  the  empt}'  rooms 
that  he  went  to  live  in  a  wretched  furnished  lodging  in 
the  same  street.  The  two  thousand  francs  of  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  added  to  the  sale  of  the  furniture, 
paid  all  debts.  Berenice  and  Lucien  had  a  hundred 
francs  left  on  which  the^^  lived  for  two  months,  —  two 
months  which  Lucien  passed  in  morbid  despair.  He 
could  neither  write  nor  think  ;  he  abandoned  himself  to 
his  sorrow.     Berenice  pitied  him. 

"  If  3'ou  wished  to  go  back  to  3'our  own  town,  how 
could  you  get  there?  "  she  said  one  da}',  replying  to  an 
exclamation  of  Lucien's.  He  was  thinking  of  his  sister 
and  mother  and  David. 

"  On  foot !  "  he  said. 

"  But  you  must  eat  and  sleep  on  the  way;  3'ou  could  n't 
do  with  less  than  twent}'  francs." 

"  I  will  get  them,"  he  answered. 

He  took  his  coats  and  his  fine  linen,  keeping  only  the 
merest  necessaries,  and  went  to  Samanon,  who  gave 
him  fifty  francs  for  his  whole  wardrobe.  He  entreated 
the  usurer  to  give  him  enough  to  enable  him  to  take  the 
dihgence,  but  Samanon  was  inflexible.  In  his  rage  and 
disappointment,  Lucien  rushed,  hot-foot,  to  Frascati's, 

27 


418       G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

risked  the  whole  sum,  and  left  without  a  penny.  When 
he  returned  to  his  miserable  chamber  he  asked  Berenice 
to  give  him  a  shawl  of  Coralie's.  Something  in  his  e3'es 
told  the  kindl}'  woman,  to  whom  he  had  admitted  his 
loss  at  pla}',  the  thought  that  was  in  his  mind,  —  he 
meant  to  hang  himself. 

"Are  3'ou  mad,  monsieur?"  she  said.  "Go  and 
walk  about  the  streets  and  come  back  at  midnight ;  I 
will  earn  3'our  monej" ;   but  don't  go  near  the  qua3's  !  " 

Lucien  went,  as  he  was  told,  and  walked  about  the 
boulevards,  stupid  with  grief,  gazing  at  the  equipages, 
at  the  pedestrians,  — feeling  himself  an  atom,  alone,  in 
that  great  crowd  whirled  onward  by  the  lash  of  a  thou- 
sand self-interests.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  the 
shores  of  the  Charente  ;  he  felt  a  thirst  for  family  joys  ; 
a  flash  of  strength,  such  as  often  deceives  these  femi- 
nine natures,  came  to  him ;  he  would  not  give  up  the 
game  without  discharging  his  heart  into  the  heart  of 
David  Sechard,  and  taking  counsel  with  the  three  angels 
who  remained  to  him.  As  he  walked  idl3'  through  the 
streets  he  noticed  Berenice,  dressed  in  her  best,  stand- 
ing talking  to  a  man  at  the  mudd3'  corner  of  the  Boule- 
vard Bonne-Nouvelle. 

"What  are  3'ou  doing?"  Lucien  said  to  her,  struck 
b3'  a  horrible  suspicion. 

"There  are  3'our  twenty  francs,"  she  said,  putting 
the  mone3'  in  his  hand  ;  "  the3'  ma3'  cost  dear,  but  they 
will  take  3^ou  home." 

She  disappeared  before  Lucien  could  see  which  wa3' 
she  went.  It  must  be  said  to  his  credit  that  the  money 
burned  his  hand  and  he  wished  to  return  it ;  but  he  was 
forced  to  keep  it  as  a  last  stigma  of  his  life  in  Paris. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.       419 

On  the  morrow  Lucien  obtained  his  passport,  bought 
a  holly  stick,  and  got  into  a  public  conveyance  on  the 
place  de  la  rue  d'P^nfer,  which  took  him  for  ten  sous  to 
Lonjumeau.  The  first  night  he  slept  in  the  stable  of  a 
farmhouse  six  miles  beyond  Arpojon.  When  he  reached 
Orleans  he  was  very  weary  and  almost  worn-out ;  but  a 
boatman  took  him  for  three  francs  down  the  river  to 
Tours,  during  which  trip  he  spent  two  francs  for  food. 
It  took  him  five  days  to  walk  from  Tours  to  Poitiers. 
Beyond  Poitiers  he  had  onl}^  five  francs  left ;  still,  he 
collected  all  his  strength,  and  continued  his  way.  Over- 
taken b}'  night,  he  resolved  to  bivouac  by  the  roadside, 
when  he  saw  a  carriage  mounting  the  hill  behind  him. 
Unseen  b\'  the  postilion,  the  travellers,  or  the  footman, 
who  was  sitting  on  the  box,  he  was  able  to  get  on  be- 
hind between  two  trunks,  which  protected  him  from 
being  jolted  off  and  enabled  him  to  sleep. 

Awakened  b}'  the  sun,  which  struck  his  e3'es,  and  by 
the  sound  of  voices,  he  recognized  Mansle,  the  little 
town  where,  eighteen  months  earlier,  he  had  gone  with 
David  to  await  Madame  de  Bargeton,  his  heart  full  of 
love  and  hope  and  joy.  Seeing  himself  covered  with 
dust  and  surrounded  by  an  inquisitive  crowd  of  pos- 
tilions and  others,  he  was  aware  that  his  position  was 
suspicious.  He  jumped  to  the  ground,  and  was  about  to 
speak  when  the  sight  of  the  travellers  getting  out  of 
their  carriage  stopped  the  words  in  his  throat.  The}' 
were  the  new  prefect  of  the  Charente,  Comte  Sixte  du 
Chatelet,  and  his  wife,  Louise  de  Bargeton. 

"  If  we  had  onlj^  known  of  the  companion  whom  acci- 
dent has  given  to  us  !  "  said  the  countess.  "  Pray  get 
in  with  us,  monsieur  !  " 


420       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

Lucien  bowed  colcll}'  to  the  couple,  with  a  glance  both 
humble  and  threatening.  He  turned  abruptl}'  into  a 
cross  road,  and  went  to  a  farmhouse,  where  he  obtained 
a  breakfast  of  bread  and  milk,  and  could  rest  and  delibe- 
rate in  silence  on  his  future.  But  not  for  Ions;.  He  had 
only  three  francs  left ;  and  the  author  of  the  '•'  Daisies," 
driven  by  the  fever  within  him,  again  pushed  on.  He 
walked  along  the  banks  of  the  river,  examining  the 
scener}',  which  grew  more  and  more  picturesque.  At 
last,  about  mid-day,  he  came  upon  a  sheet  of  water 
overhung  with  willows,  and  forming  a  tiny  lake.  He 
stopped  to  contemplate  the  cool  and  shad}'  grove  and 
peaceful  water,  the  rural  charm  of  which  affected  his 
soul. 

A  house,  close  to  a  mill  on  an  arm  of  the  rivei-, 
showed  its  thatched  roof  covered  with  sedum  among 
the  trees.  The  simple  front  of  the  little  building  was 
overrun  with  jessamine,  honeysuckle,  and  the  wild  hop  ; 
all  about  it  were  the  brilliant  flowers  of  the  phlox,  and 
splendid  plants  of  a  succulent  nature.  Ducks  were 
swimming  in  a  pond  of  transparent  water  between  two 
currents  which  sent  the  water  humming  through  the 
sluices.  The  mill-wheel  made  a  clacking  sound.  Seated 
on  a  rustic  bench  before  the  house,  Lucien  saw  a  stout 
and  cheery  housewife  knitting,  and  watching  a  child 
that  was  teasing  the  chickens. 

"My  good  woman,"  said  Lucien,  coming  forward, 
"I  am  very  tired;  I  am  fevered;  I  have  but  three 
francs  ;  would  you  feed  me  on  bread  and  milk  and  let 
me  sleep  in  the  barn  for  a  week?  I  want  time  to  write 
to  m}'  friends,  and  they  will  send  me  money,  or  come 
and  fetch  me  here." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      421 

*'To  be  sure  I  will,"  she  said,  "if  my  husband  will 
let  me.     Hey  !  little  man  !  " 

The  miller  came  out,  looked  at  Lucien,  and  took  his 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth  to  say:  "Three  francs,  one 
week !    we  might  as  well  take  you  for  nothing." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  end  as  a  miller's  drudge  !  "  thought 
the  poet,  looking  at  the  exquisite  scenerj^  before  he  la}' 
down  on  the  bed  the  good  wife  made  for  him,  where  he 
slept  a  sleep  that  frightened  his  hosts. 

"Courtois,  go  and  see  if  that  young  man  is  dead  or 
living.  It  is  fourteen  hours  since  he  went  to  sleep,  and 
I  am  afraid  to  look,"  said  the  miller's  wife  about  ten 
o'clock  of  the  next  da3\ 

"I  think,"  said  the  miller,  as  he  finished  spreading 
his  nets  to  catch  some  fish,  —  "I  think  that  prettj' 
fellow  is  probabl}'  some  slip  of  an  actor  not  worth  a 
groat !  " 

"What  makes  you  think  that,  little  man?"  asked 
his  wife. 

"  Damn  it!  he  isn't  a  prince,  nor  a  minister,  nor  a 
deput}',  nor  a  bishop !  then  wh}'  are  his  hands  as  white 
as  those  of  a  man  who  does  nothing  ?  " 

"It  is  very  surprising  that  hunger  doesn't  wake  him 
up,"  said  the  miller's  wife,  who  was  getting  some  break- 
fast ready  for  the  guest  whom  chance  had  sent  her. 
"An  actor!"  she  went  on.  "Goodness!  where  can 
he  be  going?  There  is  no  fair  at  Angouleme  just 
now." 

Neither  the  miller  nor  his  wife  had  any  notion  that 
besides  the  actor,  prince,  and  bishop,  there  is  another 
man,  both  prince  and  actor,  a  man  clothed  with  a 
glorious    priesthood,  —  a  Poet,    who    seems   to    have 


422     Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

nothing  to  do,  but  who  reigns  above  the  humanity 
whom  it  is  his  mission  to  reveal. 

"  I  don't  know  what  else  he  can  be,"  said  Courtois. 

"  Do  3'ou  think  there  is  any  danger  in  keeping  him  ?  " 

"  Pooh !  thieves  don't  sleep  like  that ;  we  should 
have  been  robbed  hours  ago." 

"  1  am  neither  a  prince,  nor  a  thief,  nor  a  bishop,  nor 
an  actor,"  said  Lucien  sadh',  coming  into  the  room, 
through  the  window  of  wliich  he  had  doubtless  heard 
the  colloquy  between  husband  and  wife.  ^'  I  am  a  poor, 
weary  man  ;  I  walked  from  Paris  here.  My  name  is 
Lucien  de  Rubempre,  the  son  of  Monsieur  Chardon,  the 
predecessor  of  Postel,  the  apothecary  at  I'Houmeau. 
M}'  sister  is  married  to  David  Sechard,  printer,  on  the 
place  du  Mfirier,  Angouleme." 

"  Look  here  !  "  said  the  miller  ;  "is  n't  that  printer 
the  son  of  the  old  fox  who  lives  at  Marsac?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Lucien. 

"A  queer  kind  of  father  he  is  !  "  continued  Courtois. 
"  He  has  let  his  son  be  ruined,  they  sa}',  and  all  his 
goods  sold,  when  the  old  wretcli  has  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  in  property,  not  to  speak  of  the  cash  he  's 
got  hid  away  somewhere  !  " 

When  bod}^  and  soul  have  both  been  broken  in  a  long 
and  painful  struggle,  the  moment  when  their  strength 
gives  wa}'  is  followed  either  b}'^  death  or  by  a  collapse 
of  life  resembling  death,  but  from  which  those  natures 
which  are  capable  of  resistance  find  strength  to  rise. 
Lucien,  who  was  in  a  crisis  of  this  sort,  seemed  about 
to  succumb  altogether  when  he  heard  this  news,  vague 
as  it  was,  of  a  catastrophe  having  happened  to  David 
Sechard,  his  brother-in-law. 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.      423 

-"  Oh,  sister !  "  he  cried,  "what  have  I  done?  My 
God  !  I  am  a  wicked  man  !  " 

He  fell  upon  a  wooden  bench,  pale  as  death  and 
nerveless.  The  goodwife  brought  him  a  cup  of  milk, 
which  she  forced  him  to  drink ;  but  he  begged  the 
miller  to  help  him  to  his  bed,  for  he  thought  his  last 
hour  had  come.  With  the  phantom  of  Death  before 
his  eyes,  his  poetic  mind  was  seized  with  religious 
thoughts.  He  asked  to  see  a  priest,  that  he  might  con- 
fess himself  and  receive  the  sacraments.  Such  expres- 
sions, uttered  in  the  feeble  voice  of  a  handsome  3'outh, 
touched  Madame  Courtois  deepl}^ 

"Look  here,  little  man!"  she  said  to  her  husband, 
"get  on  3'our  horse  and  go  and  fetch  Monsieur  Marron, 
the  doctor  at  Marsac  ;  he  '11  find  out  what 's  the  matter 
with  that  3'oung  man,  who  seems  to  me  in  a  bad  way ; 
and  perhaps  3'ou  can  bring  back  the  vicar.  I  dare  sa3^ 
the3'  '11  know  more  than  you  do  about  that  printer  in 
Angouleme,  for  3'ou  know  Postel  is  Monsieur  Marron's 
son-in-law." 

Courtois  departed.  His  wife,  imbued,  like  all  countr3' 
folk,  with  the  idea  that  sick  people  must  eat,  gave 
Lucien  food.  He  took  no  notice  of  her,  but  abandoned 
himself  wholl3'  to  a  passionate  remorse,  which  brought 
him  out  of  his  previous  depression  b3^  the  revulsion 
caused  b3'  that  moral  blister. 

The  Courtois  mill  is  about  three  miles  from  Marsac, 
which  is  the  market  town  of  the  canton,  half  wa3^  be- 
tween Mansle  and  Angouleme ;  therefore  the  good 
miller  soon  returned  with  the  doctor  and  the  priest. 
These  persons  had  heard  of  Lucien's  intimac3'  with 
Madame  de  Bargeton  ;    and  as  the  whole  department 


424     G-reat  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

of  the  Charente  was  talking  at  this  moment  about  the 
marriage  of  that  lad}'  and  her  return  to  Angouleme 
with  her  husband,  the  new  prefect,  Comte  Sixte  du 
Chatelet,  when  the  worthy  pair  found  that  Lucien  was 
at  the  miller's  house,  the}'  naturally  felt  inquisitive  to 
discover  wh}'  the  widow  of  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  had 
not  married  the  young  man  she  had  taken  away  with 
her,  and  whether  he  had  now  come  back  to  help  his 
brother-in-law,  David  Sechard.  Curiosity  as  well  as 
humanit}^  brought  them  at  once  to  Lucien's  assistance. 
Consequentlv,  two  hours  after  Courtois's  departure, 
the  poet  heard  on  the  cobblestone  pavement  round  the 
mill  the  wheels  of  the  shabby  chaise  of  the  country 
doctor.  The  two  Messieurs  Marron  came  together,  — 
the  doctor  being  the  nephew  of  the  priest,  and  both 
were  well  acquainted  with  the  father  of  David  Sechard. 

When  the  doctor  had  examined  his  patient,  and  duly 
felt  his  pulse  and  looked  at  his  tongue,  he  smiled  at  the 
miller's  wife  to  dispel  her  uneasiness. 

'' Madame  Courtois,"  he  said,  "  I  have  no  doubt  you 
have  some  good  wine  in  3'our  cellar,  and  a  good  eel  in 
your  fish-pond  ;  serve  them  to  your  patient ;  there  is 
nothing;  the  matter  with  him  but  exhaustion.  When 
he  gets  over  that,  he  '11  soon  be  about." 

"Ah,  monsieur!  "  said  Lucien,  "  my  illness  is  not  of 
the  body,  but  the  mind ;  and  these  good  people  told 
me  a  piece  of  news  about  the  troubles  that  have  come 
upon  my  sister,  Madame  Sechard,  that  has  almost  killed 
me.  In  God's  name,  if  you  know  anything  about  David 
Sechard's  affairs,  tell  me  !  " 

^'I  think  he  is  now  in  prison,"  replied  the  doctor. 
"  His  father  has  refused  to  help  him." 


Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris.    425 

"  In  prison  !  "  cried  Lucien.     "  Why  !  " 

"For  notes  which  he  owed  in  Paris,  and  had  no 
doubt  forgotten  ;  for  he  seems  not  to  know  what  he  is 
about,"  replied  Monsieur  Marron. 

"  Leave  me,  I  beg  of  you,  with  monsieur  le  cure," 
said  Lucien,  whose  face  changed  visibly. 

The  doctor,  with  the  miller  and  his  wife,  left  the 
room.  AVhen  Lucien  was  alone  with  the  old  priest,  he 
cried  out  vehemently:  "I  deserve  the  death  I  feel 
approaching,  monsieur.  I  am  a  wretch  who  can  only 
fling  himself  into  the  arms  of  religion.  It  is  I,  mon- 
sieur, I,  who  am  the  torturer  of  my  sister  and  brother ; 
for  David  Sechard  has  been  a  brother  to  me.  I  drew 
the  notes  which  David  has  not  been  able  to  pay.  I 
have  ruined  him.  In  the  horrible  distress  to  which  I 
have  been  brought,  I  forgot  this  crime.  When  I  was 
sued  for  the  mone}-  in  Paris  by  the  man  who  cashed  the 
notes,  I  thought  it  was  paid  by  a  rich  man,  a  million- 
naire,  to  whom  I  appealed  ;  but  it  seems  now  as  if  he 
did  nothing  about  it." 

Lucien  then  related  all  his  troubles.  When  he  had 
ended  his  poem,  with  a  feverish  apostrophe  truly  worthy 
of  a  poet,  he  entreated  the  priest  to  go  to  Angouleme 
and  make  inquiries  of  his  sister.  Eve,  and  his  mother, 
Madame  Chardon,  as  to  the  actual  state  of  things,  that 
he  might  know  if  there  were  any  possibilit}'  of  remedy- 
ing them. 

"Until  3'our  return,  monsieur,"  he  said,  weeping  hot 
tears,  "I  shall  live.  If  my  mother,  if  my  sister,  if 
David,  do  not  repulse  me,  I  shall  not  die." 

The  eloquence  of  the  3'outh,  the  tears  of  this  startling 
repentance,  the  sight  of  that  pale  and  handsome  face 


426       Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

half-dying  with  despair,  the  tale  of  these  misfortunes 
which  were  greater  than  human  strength  could  bear, 
excited  the  pity  and  the  interest  of  the  priest. 

"In  the  provinces  as  in  Paris,  monsieur,"  he  said, 
"we  must  never  believe  more  than  half  we  hear.  Do 
not  be  too  alarmed  by  news  which,  at  this  distance  from 
Angouleme,  may  be  quite  erroneous.  Old  Sechard, 
our  neighbor  at  Marsac,  has  latel}'  gone  to  Angouleme, 
probably  to  settle  his  son's  affairs.  I  will  m3'^self  go 
there,  and  then  return  here  and  let  3'ou  know  whether 
your  famil}',  after  your  confession  and  repentance,  which 
will  help  me  to  plead  j^our  cause,  will  receive  you." 

The  priest  did  not  know  that  for  the  last  eighteen 
months  Lucien  had  repented  so  often  that  his  repent- 
ance, violent  as  it  was,  had  no  other  value  than  that  of 
a  scene  admirably  pla3^ed,  and  still  pla3'ed  in  absolute 
good  faith. 

[We  already  know  of  the  return  of  the  prodigal 
brother,  the  further  injuries  he  did  his  famih^,  his  effort 
at  suicide,  and  his  meeting  with  the  so-called  abbe,  Don 
Carlos  Herrera.^]  The  rest  of  Lucien's  history  belongs 
to  the  domain  of  the  "  Scenes  from  Parisian  Life." 

1  Lost  Illusions.     Eve  and  David. 


(D 


THE    END. 


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